II ii 
 
 tiiiiil 
 
Class Tc^ tjljtj I 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
Verses Stories 
 and Translations 
 
Verses Stories 
 and Translations 
 
 BY 
 
 MARY S. PETTIT 
 
 PRIVATELY PRINTED 
 
 MINNEAPOLIS 
 
 1915 
 

 COPYRIGHT, 1915, BY 
 GERTRUDE R. PETTIT 
 
 THE TORCH PRESS 
 
 CEOAR RAPIOS 
 
 IOWA 
 
 M3 1915 
 ©CI.A4 06583 
 

 ^ CONTENTS 
 
 \j Verses 
 
 Childhood . 
 The Difference . 
 
 Fragment — ''KhAS AND 
 ALACK" 
 
 A Plea .... 
 Tree-tops 
 A Treasure Ship 
 Lullaby — ''Lullaby, 
 lullaby" . 
 
 Fragment — "ONCE AS 
 WALKED" . 
 
 Lullaby — "The winds 
 CRY loud" . 
 
 By the Lakeside 
 Stories 
 
 Tiger-Lilies . 
 Violets .... 
 The Most Beautiful 
 
 Maiden in the World 42 
 The Land of Sunshine . 58 
 
 9 
 
 10 
 
 12 
 13 
 14 
 15 
 
 16 
 
 18 
 19 
 
 25 
 33 
 
6 Contents 
 
 Translations 
 The Brain-Mender . . 77 
 Lazarine . . . . 91 
 The Emerald Ring . . 108 
 Perrette's Last Bouquet 122 
 The Paradise of Ani- 
 mals 138 
 
Verses 
 
CHILDHOOD 
 
 Ah, little laughing maiden, 
 With floating golden hair. 
 
 With bright eyes ever sparkling 
 And life without a care, 
 
 You little know the pitfalls 
 That wait your dancing feet; 
 
 You turn in scornful wonder 
 When told that joys are fleet. 
 
 Then live your joyous life, dear, 
 As long as e'er you may. 
 
 And brighten with your laughter 
 Our shadowed elder day. 
 
lO Verses 
 
 THE DIFFERENCE 
 
 The leaves that fall when the wind 
 blows cold, — 
 I wonder where they go. 
 Do they like to lie on the hard, 
 bare ground, 
 And be covered by the snow? 
 
 A leaf blew into my room last night 
 And I dreamed that it spoke to 
 me. 
 It shivered and shook with fear of 
 the dark, 
 And was sad as sad could be. 
 
 This morning I looked where it lay 
 on the floor. 
 And the leaf was all jolly and 
 red. 
 Do you think that my dream was 
 because / was sad? — 
 rd forgot to take dolly to bed. 
 
Verses 1 1 
 
 I guess that the leaves just tumble 
 and toss 
 And don't really care where they 
 
 go. 
 They haven't got hearts and they 
 haven't got heads, 
 So they wait for the wind to 
 blow. 
 
 But I'm a small girl who is sorry 
 or glad, 
 And always must think and feel ; 
 So I guess I must try to do it quite 
 well 
 And make things come right a 
 good deal. 
 
12 Verses 
 
 FRAGMENT 
 
 Alas and alack for Edna, 
 
 Alas for Donald, too; 
 However long they pondered 
 
 They couldn't tell what to do. 
 
 Away from home in the twilight. 
 They had followed a firefly's 
 spark; 
 They hoped they should catch a 
 fairy, 
 But they only got lost in the 
 dark. 
 
Verses 13 
 
 A PLEA 
 
 Little sparrow on the tree, 
 Sing a spring-time song to me; 
 Sing of sunshine, sing of clover. 
 Sing of flowers the wide world 
 over. 
 
 Oh, I know that winter's here, 
 That the land is cold and drear; 
 But 'tis sure that summer's coming. 
 And I weary for bees' humming. 
 
 Can't you sing it, soft and free. 
 From your perch upon the tree? 
 Let's forget the wintry weather. 
 Call up summer, both together! 
 
14 Verses 
 
 TREE-TOPS 
 
 The trees are green and rustling, 
 
 The trees are very tall ; 
 And I cannot reach around them 
 
 Because I'm yet so small. 
 
 The little leaves are dancing 
 
 And playing in the sun ; 
 And the sun-rays slip in past them 
 
 Wherever they can come. 
 
 And when I lie close under 
 And look up very high, 
 
 I can see the tree-tops pointing 
 Like fingers, to the sky: 
 
 And the sky is blue above them. 
 And it seems to me so queer 
 
 That the trees so big and mighty 
 Should be to me so dear. 
 
Verses 15 
 
 A TREASURE SHIP 
 
 Wide is the lake, deep is the lake — 
 The lake my little boat shall take; 
 If I set it on its breast, 
 It will bear it to the west. 
 
 For the little waves, they run 
 Toward the setting of the sun; 
 And the wind, it lightly blows 
 Toward the place of gold and rose. 
 
 Now the sky is gold in hue 
 Where before 'twas blue as blue; 
 It is like the look of honey 
 Or the glistening of money. 
 
 And if my little boat I send 
 Westward, where the waters end; 
 Then Til see its sails all pink, 
 Floating on the great lake's brink. 
 
 And I hope that if some day 
 It should come again this way, 
 I shall find it full of gold — 
 Just as full as it will hold. 
 
1 6 Verses 
 
 LULLABY 
 
 Lullaby, lullaby, 
 Here as you lie, 
 Close on your mother's breast, 
 Taking your needful rest; 
 Close now your eyes, my sweet. 
 Shut lids for sleep are meet: 
 Sleep, baby, sleep. 
 
 Lullaby, lullaby, 
 
 Dream-things are nigh; 
 
 Moons for the taking. 
 
 Stars in the making. 
 
 All things you love the best, — 
 
 Fairies and all the rest: 
 
 Sleep, baby, sleep. 
 
 Lullaby, lullaby. 
 Hush, do not cry! 
 Soon you will wake again, 
 Reach for your toys again, 
 Rest now from all your play, 
 Rest till another day: 
 
 Sleep, baby, sleep. 
 
Verses 1 7 
 
 FRAGMENT 
 
 Once as I walked in the land of 
 
 dreams 
 Taking my way by devious streams, 
 I came to a lake so clear and bright, 
 It seemed but a well of sapphire 
 
 light. 
 
 Dazzled at first, I lowered my eyes. 
 But raised them again to a glad 
 
 surprise; 
 For over the waters there moved a 
 
 boat 
 Lying as light as a lily afloat. 
 
1 8 Verses 
 
 LULLABY 
 
 The winds cry loud, my sweet, my 
 
 own. 
 The winds are wailing o'er the sea, 
 The waves shriek back in agony, — 
 Lie soft, my little one. 
 
 Thy father's boat, my love, my life. 
 Is tossing on the tossing sea, 
 The waves snatch at it hungrily, — 
 Sleep sweet, my baby dear. 
 
 Thy father's corpse, my babe, my 
 
 own. 
 Is tossed and heaved on the restless 
 
 sea. 
 Is sunk and lost eternally, — 
 
 Dream glad, my only one. 
 
Verses 19 
 
 BY THE LAKE-SIDE 
 
 Calm lies the lake beneath the 
 evening sky, 
 
 Like a clear gem reflecting sunset 
 hues 
 
 Caught from the flaming glory of 
 the west; 
 
 Long lines of living light and pur- 
 ple shade 
 
 Lie all athv^art its gleaming surface 
 smooth, 
 
 Stretching a radiant bridge from 
 shore to shore. 
 
 So placid is its beauty and so pure. 
 It seems that he who once has 
 
 gazed thereon 
 Can ne'er again be vexed by petty 
 
 cares: 
 Like some Madonna looking from 
 
 the wall 
 
20 Verses 
 
 With eyes made glorious by celes- 
 tial calm; 
 
 So do these limpid waters lap the 
 soul 
 
 In peace that passeth knowledge 
 evermore. 
 
 And though, alas, when once again 
 we face 
 
 The fret and worry of another day, 
 
 The heart may lose its vantage of 
 sweet calm. 
 
 Yielding again to stress of circum- 
 stance; 
 
 Yet sure such moments are not 
 wholly lost. 
 
 Nor all in vain is Nature's healing 
 touch ; 
 
 For to the man who once has looked 
 with seeing eyes 
 
 And carries deep within his deep- 
 est soul 
 
 The image of an utter loveliness, — 
 
 To him there will remain some 
 lasting good : 
 
Verses 2 1 
 
 A stronger purpose and a larger 
 
 life; 
 A stouter heart to beat his way 
 
 through pain, 
 To that high end toward which his 
 
 face is set. 
 
 Or if, perchance, he be of weaker 
 mould. 
 
 Fitted to suffer, not to buffet Fate, 
 
 Then shall such grace of cherished 
 memory 
 
 Be unto him a sanctuary through- 
 out life, — 
 
 A refuge whither sometimes he 
 may flee 
 
 From human ills, and taste untaint- 
 ed bliss, 
 
 God-given, in the beauty of the 
 world. 
 
Stories 
 
TIGER-LILIES 
 
 UP among the hills, in a dis- 
 tant country, there lived once 
 on a time, a simple and kind- 
 ly people — farmers and herdsmen 
 and vinedressers — who knew little 
 of the great world beyond the hills, 
 but did their simple tasks in con- 
 tent and neighborly kindness. 
 
 One touch of romance bright- 
 ened their homely lives and bred 
 in them a love for beauty not often 
 found among so plain a people. 
 
 Where the valley broadened to- 
 ward a swift-flowing river, there 
 lay a field of tall, fair lilies, thick- 
 grown and tangled. No one knew 
 whence or how the seed had been 
 carried, but though old men re- 
 membered when a few of the plants 
 had first appeared, now, quick- 
 
26 Stories 
 
 spread in the marshy soil, they cov- 
 ered hundreds of feet, blooming 
 all summer long with a strange, in- 
 tense beauty — a white radiance 
 almost painful by very loveliness. 
 They were the pride and joy of all 
 the countryside and the thing first 
 shown to any stranger who chanced 
 to pass that way. 
 
 Now, in one of the cottages of the 
 valley there was born one winter 
 a girl-child, wondrously beautiful 
 from her birth, with a white beauty 
 that made all who saw her name 
 her ^^the lily child." 
 
 And as year by year she grew in 
 sweetness and in beauty, the people 
 came to care more for the fair lily 
 maid who could give back love for 
 love, than for the indifferent blos- 
 soms; so that these were neglected 
 by all but the child herself. She 
 loved the flowers with all her heart, 
 and every spring watched eagerly 
 for the first green buds, hailing the 
 
Tiger-Lilies 27 
 
 final outburst of white bloom as the 
 deepest delight of the year. 
 
 But after a few years the seasons 
 began to bring her disappoint- 
 ment. With the same eagerness she 
 watched the swelling buds, but 
 when they broke into flower, her 
 quick joy was marred. The great 
 sheet of bloom was lovely indeed, 
 yet it seemed to her to lack some- 
 thing of the vivid purity, — the 
 white, starry radiance that she re- 
 membered in her earlier childhood. 
 
 And each year her disappoint- 
 ment deepened. When she asked 
 the people about her whether they, 
 too, did not think that a blight had 
 come to the lily field, they an- 
 swered carelessly, sometimes tell- 
 ing her playfully that it might be 
 so, that she had drawn the sweet- 
 ness and fairness from the field 
 flowers to keep for herself. 
 
 And when the breeze bore their 
 words over the blossoms, one watch- 
 
28 Stories 
 
 ing might have seen a shadow, ever 
 so slight, yet which did not pass 
 with the lifting of their heads. 
 
 The winter of the child's elev- 
 enth birthday was unusually se- 
 vere, with little snow to cover the 
 bare earth and gaunt trees, and as 
 spring approached, she waited with 
 more than usual longing for the 
 blooming of the lilies, seeking to 
 persuade herself that she had only 
 fancied their beauty abated. 
 
 They were unusually late in 
 flowering, but one morning when 
 she looked from her eastern win- 
 dow, she saw at last the sheet of 
 white, and in the morning light it 
 looked to her as fresh and fair as 
 in her memories. 
 
 With a cry of joy she ran out 
 and straight across the fields to the 
 place of the lilies. But alas! when 
 she reached them she was sad- 
 dened; for some were tainted by 
 mildew, some marred by worms — 
 
Tiger-Lilies 29 
 
 not one shone upon her, star-white 
 and perfect from its background of 
 leaves. 
 
 She paused a moment, then 
 pushed in among them, drawn on 
 by fairer looking flowers beyond. 
 On and on she pressed, but only to 
 new disappointment until, sobbing 
 and blinded by tears, she tripped 
 on the tangled roots and fell. 
 
 Her hand thrown out to save 
 herself, touched water. She strug- 
 gled up, startled, and turned, as 
 she thought, toward home, but she 
 could not see over the great plants 
 and she was confused by sudden 
 fear and by a buzzing murmur 
 that seemed to arise all about her. 
 No matter what way she turned, 
 she felt the water growing deeper 
 while the intertwined roots seemed 
 to give way under her feet. After 
 a few minutes of struggle her foot- 
 hold broke quite away and with a 
 little cry she sank into the river. 
 
30 Stories 
 
 Now, two neighbors, watching 
 the child's impetuous rush from 
 the house, had seen her disappear 
 among the lilies, and when the 
 swaying of the flowers marked her 
 path toward the river, they called 
 a warning to her; then, getting no 
 answer, hastened to the bank of the 
 stream. They were but just in 
 time. Reaching the shore at a point 
 below where she had fallen, they 
 saw her borne toward them by the 
 swift current, and wading waist- 
 deep into the water, they caught 
 her and bore her, dripping and un- 
 conscious, homeward. 
 
 All that day she lay, weak and 
 pale, too much exhausted to re- 
 member or to wonder what had be- 
 fallen her. All day the neighbors 
 came, singly or in groups, to ask 
 how she was doing, and through- 
 out the valley the talk was only of 
 the child and her escape from peril. 
 
 The next morning, almost recov- 
 
Tiger-Lilies 3 1 
 
 ered from her accident, the girl 
 went somewhat sadly to the win- 
 dow to look again at the lilies, but 
 at her first glance she started back 
 with a little cry that brought her 
 mother to her side. 
 
 Instead of a sheet of white, sway- 
 ing and rippling in the morning 
 breeze, there was now a mass of 
 vivid color — gleaming yellows 
 and flaming scarlet and vermil- 
 ion, all streaked and spotted in 
 strange gorgeousness. 
 
 The mother, catching up the 
 half-terrified child, cried, point- 
 ing: — ^^Ah, the lilies, the lilies — 
 tigers that would have killed my 
 child!" 
 
 And others looked and won- 
 dered, and the name then given 
 them held. ^'Tiger-lilies" they 
 were for all time and objects of 
 horror and aversion to the country 
 people. 
 
 Strangers might admire their 
 
32 Stories 
 
 flaunting beauty, but those who 
 knew their story turned from them 
 shuddering; for they believed that 
 the lilies had in truth been proud 
 and jealous, giving back hatred for 
 the child's love; and so at last ex- 
 changing their white purity for a 
 new and sinister coloring. 
 
VIOLETS - 
 
 I HAVE brought you some vio- 
 lets, mama," said a little boy, 
 nestling into his mother's lap. 
 ''Can't you tell me a story about 
 them? They are pretty enough to 
 have one — see, they are like wee 
 faces looking love at us, are they 
 not, mama?" 
 
 ''They are, indeed," answered 
 his mother, "and they have many 
 stories. I will tell you the one I 
 like the best. 
 
 "There was once a fair young 
 princess imprisoned in a gloomy 
 castle. She was very lonely and 
 very weary of her captivity and al- 
 most her only pleasure was to walk 
 in a little courtyard filled with 
 many kinds of garden flowers — 
 tulips and roses and lilies and as 
 
34 Stories 
 
 many more as you can think of. 
 And as she walked among them, 
 the blossoms danced and nodded 
 and whispered of many things: — 
 of glory and fame; of the power of 
 beauty; and the joy of life and 
 freedom. And watching them her 
 loneliness grew more bitter. 
 
 *'But often the maiden turned 
 from the garden blooms to a se- 
 cluded corner of the court, w^here, 
 almost hidden by the taller, gayer 
 plants, had grown up some little 
 wood-violets; and these she loved 
 better than all the lilies and the 
 roses. She told them her sorrow 
 and her longing for freedom in the 
 bright, wide w^orld, and the little 
 blossoms comforted her with their 
 beauty and their sweet perfume. 
 And as they bent to the breeze, 
 they seemed to say softly: 'Love 
 — love and wait — wait and love — 
 love — love.' And day by day the 
 
Violets 35 
 
 princess learned a truer patience 
 and a sweeter resignation. 
 
 ^'She knew little of her own 
 story. As far back as she could 
 clearly remember she had been, as 
 now, a close prisoner. Yet she had 
 a few memories of other things 
 known in early childhood: of wide 
 fields bright with sunshine; of the 
 glint of armor on marching men, 
 and the piercing bugle call; of 
 merry troops of shouting children, 
 and herself one of them ; of a noble 
 and soldierly man to whom all oth- 
 ers bent the knee, and whom she 
 had called 'father.' And dearest of 
 all her memory pictures, that of a 
 fair and stately woman, who, hold- 
 ing her in her arms as a little child, 
 had looked at her with beautiful 
 eyes deep with a brooding, passion- 
 ate love; — and this, she felt sure, 
 was the image of her mother. But 
 again she remembered that face 
 
36 Stories 
 
 cold and rigid, with closed eyes, 
 and there came back her ill-defined, 
 childish sense of loss, amounting to 
 physical desolation and darkness. 
 Then came a strange, dreadful 
 night ; a hasty awakening by an un- 
 known voice; the sound of whis- 
 pers, loud and ominous in the dark ; 
 a flicker of lights down broad halls ; 
 a hurried journey through the 
 blackness, and then — her prison. 
 She had often tried to weave these 
 broken images into a connected 
 story, but it was to no purpose. 
 
 ^'Now, as she gained peace and 
 quiet of heart, new dreams began 
 to visit her; and these looked, not 
 to the past, but to the present and 
 future. They were changeful vis- 
 ions of castle-court and meadow 
 and woodland, bright-hued in sun- 
 shine, or grey and veiled in mist. 
 But one figure reappeared always 
 — that of a youth, strong and stal- 
 
Violets 37 
 
 wart and good to see. He was at 
 first a mere lad, sporting with his 
 comrades, or practicing knightly 
 exercises in happy carelessness. 
 Yet there was at times a certain 
 dreaminess in his eyes, and grad- 
 ually she could see him grow in 
 earnestness and manly purpose as 
 he grew in years. And in her 
 dreamy loneliness, she wove her 
 fancies about this figure. What if 
 he should one day come to her of- 
 fering freedom and love? Did not 
 old stories tell of many a captive 
 maiden freed through the devotion 
 of some brave man who knew her 
 story and pitied her? If this 
 should, indeed, prove her deliverer, 
 could she repay him as his service 
 would deserve; could she give him 
 her heart and her life? For the 
 visions were after all vague, and the 
 far-seen figure commanded noth- 
 ing warmer than wonder and in- 
 
38 Stories 
 
 terest. So her day dreams brought 
 both hope and an added wistful 
 sadness. 
 
 ^'Thus passed the long, quiet 
 days, in sorrow and unrest, yet with 
 a certain guarded peace and sweet- 
 ness. And the kindly sky and the 
 little flower faces gave comfort. 
 So she grew softly among her flow- 
 ers to the perfect dawn of woman- 
 hood. And after so long waiting, 
 looking one day from her chamber 
 window she saw far off, on the 
 hitherto untraveled road, a light 
 dust cloud and the flash of steel in 
 the sunshine, and her heart gave 
 one choking throb and stood still in 
 a great hope and fear. Then look- 
 ing closer she saw and knew the 
 youth of her dreams, but clearly 
 seen now in truest manly beauty 
 and strength, and deep peace came 
 to her, and her heart went out to 
 him in faith and love. 
 
 ''Then she went into the garden 
 
Violets 39 
 
 and plucked a handful of violets 
 and so waited. 
 
 '^Soon he came to her with the 
 truth of her story; how she had 
 been seized and carried ofT by a 
 strong and subtle foe of her house; 
 how the king, her father, had died 
 of grief and despair, leaving his 
 people a prey to the enemy and his 
 little daughter helpless; how the 
 story, told him in boyhood, had 
 ruled his thought and formed his 
 will to the one purpose of winning 
 back her right; how he had stirred 
 her people to her service, until now 
 the usurper was conquered and 
 powerless and broad lands and 
 eager subjects awaited her return. 
 And he told her, too, how his pas- 
 sionate pity had grown to a more 
 personal feeling as he bore hard- 
 ship and danger for her he had 
 never seen, until now, with the first 
 sight of the fair, sweet figure in the 
 garden, his devotion had flowered 
 
40 Stories 
 
 into perfect love and all the world 
 had taken on a sudden brightness. 
 Yet he would not force her will, 
 but would give her all needful help 
 as simply as before, awaiting her 
 answer with steady patience. 
 
 "When he had done, she spoke 
 no word but looked at him smiling 
 through quick tears and held out 
 the flowers. He caught the little 
 hand with its gift, and bending to 
 her lips, said with a great tender- 
 ness in his voice: ^My love, my 
 sweet wood-violet,' and so led her 
 from her dream-garden out into 
 life and the world. 
 
 "And in the garden-court there 
 was rich perfume and merry dan- 
 cing of blossoms as before; but the 
 violets remembered the princess 
 and whispered her story among 
 themselves though all the other 
 flowers forgot. They had learned 
 the secret of hope and loving sym- 
 
 m 
 
Violets 41 
 
 pathy, and have kept it ever since 
 to add charm to their delicate 
 beauty and make them the sweetest 
 of all flowers." 
 
THE MOST BEAUTIFUL 
 MAIDEN IN THE WORLD 
 
 SHE was a very beautiful prin- 
 cess: for her eyes were deep 
 blue like the summer sky; her 
 hair was as golden as the sunshine; 
 her skin was like the mingling of 
 snow and roses, and all her move- 
 ments were as graceful as the mo- 
 tion of the grasses when the wind 
 bends them. She was a very rich 
 princess, too : for her father's lands 
 stretched out to north and south 
 and east and west of her palace 
 gates, — lands fertile and well- 
 watered, where many flocks grazed, 
 and crops grew plenteously. 
 
 But she was not happy, for she 
 was very lonely. Her mother had 
 died when she was a little child; 
 
Most Beautiful Maiden 43 
 
 she had no brothers or sisters, and 
 her father gave little heed to his 
 daughter, excepting to direct her 
 education as he thought fitting for 
 a future queen. Nurses, attend- 
 ants, instructors — these she had, 
 but nobody to play with, nobody to 
 whom she could tell her childish 
 wishes and fancies, nobody to give 
 her any deep affection. 
 
 One day she was sitting listlessly 
 in the garden, looking dreamily at 
 a great bed of violets. Suddenly, 
 as a whifif of wind stirred the blos- 
 soms, she started forward with a 
 little cry. Lyingflat on the ground, 
 fast asleep, was a manikin, tiny 
 enough to be hidden even by the 
 low-growing violets. As she bent 
 over him, he opened his eyes and 
 stood up, looking at her, first, in 
 surprise; then, with a certain 
 breathless intentness. 
 
 Half frightened and wholly 
 
44 Stories 
 
 amazed, she sat silent, with hands 
 clasped, returning his intent gaze, 
 until at last he said slowly: 
 
 'Tlease, will you tell me, are 
 you, perhaps, the most beautiful 
 maiden in the world ?'^ 
 
 The princess smiled, half sadly, 
 and answered simply: 
 
 "I cannot tell you, I have seen 
 but few maids. I think I am fairer 
 than my nurses, but they are old and 
 perhaps were once prettier than I." 
 
 There was another long pause 
 while the queer little creature ex- 
 amined her from head to foot. 
 Then he said: 
 
 "Will you follow me?" 
 
 "Where are you going? Do you 
 wish to lead me far?" 
 
 "No, it is not far away. I want 
 you to go home with me — I live 
 within yonder hill." 
 
 "Within the hill ! How can that 
 be?" 
 
Most Beautiful Maiden 45 
 
 ''Come with me and I shall show 
 you." 
 
 So she gathered up her long 
 skirt and followed, asking no more 
 questions. 
 
 He led her straight toward the 
 hill at which he had pointed and 
 up a narrow, winding path to a 
 little ravine. Here he pushed 
 through a thicket and she had to 
 watch the movement of the bushes 
 in order to follow, for they quite 
 hid him. 
 
 In a moment more they came to 
 a cleft in the blufip and suddenly 
 the little fellow was gone. 
 
 Bewildered and half-frightened, 
 the princess sat down on a very 
 uncomfortable stone and waited. 
 
 Presently there w^as a grating 
 noise and slowly a bit of the rock 
 forming the bluff was turned, mak- 
 ing a small opening. In this her 
 little guide appeared, much out of 
 
46 Stories 
 
 breath, and after puffing and blow- 
 ing, asked if she could squeeze 
 through. This she accomplished 
 with some damage to her frock, 
 and after following again over 
 stones and pebbles along a twisting 
 way, she came out into an open 
 space. 
 
 Here were dozens of little fig- 
 ures, somewhat like her guide, all 
 ugly, all active, all evidently 
 thrown into great excitement by 
 her arrival. Gradually, with much 
 buzz and hum of conversation, they 
 gathered about, staring, question- 
 ing her first acquaintance, then 
 talking excitedly to one another. 
 
 After a few moments several 
 came forward together and knelt 
 at her feet, holding up a slender 
 golden coronet set with sparkling 
 jewels. 
 
 "Will you be our queen?" they 
 asked in chorus. 
 
 ''How can I be your queen?" 
 
Most Beautiful Maiden 47 
 
 she asked wonderingly. ^^Soon I 
 must go home again. Moreover, I 
 do not understand why you wish 
 me to rule over you." 
 
 There was a whispered confer- 
 ence, then one little figure came 
 forward alone. 
 
 "I will tell you the meaning of 
 our request," he said. '^Long ago 
 we had a king who ruled us wisel}^, 
 but he left no heir. When he came 
 to die, those gathered at his bed- 
 side asked him to whom he wished 
 to leave his crown and power and 
 he answered thus: ^Your lives, 
 my people, are simple and orderly. 
 You have little need of a law- 
 maker or of a strong hand to gov- 
 ern you ; but one thing you do need 
 — someone to whom you can look 
 for help and sympathy; someone 
 whom you can reverence and obey, 
 and in obedience to whom, you can 
 keep strong your hope and pride as 
 a people. Now, what I would have 
 
48 Stories 
 
 you do when I am gone, is to seek 
 out the most beautiful maiden in 
 the world and set my crown upon 
 her head. Her gentleness and love- 
 liness will help and uplift you and 
 give you happy years.' So saying 
 he died. 
 
 "Since then we have sent messen- 
 gers far and wide, seeking the most 
 beautiful maiden in the world, but 
 we have not found her. Some- 
 times a messenger has come back 
 telling us of some beautiful girl, 
 but then has followed another, sure 
 that he has seen one more lovely in 
 another place; yet none has ever 
 felt certain that his was the true 
 one — not until to-day. When 
 Heinrich awoke and saw you he 
 thought at first that he was dream- 
 ing. Never before had he seen 
 anyone who was as lovely as the sky 
 and the clouds and the summer 
 flowers, and at once he thought that 
 perhaps you were the most beauti- 
 
Most Beautiful Maiden 49 
 
 f ul maid in the world and the queen 
 for whom we have waited so long. 
 He brought you here and we all 
 know that you are more lovely than 
 anyone whom we have ever seen. 
 
 ^'Now we have waited and 
 watched through long years and 
 we have gone wherever tidings of 
 famous beauty have led us, yet we 
 have never before been satisfied ; so 
 we are sure, one and all, that you 
 are our true queen if you will but 
 accept this crown." 
 
 The little princess hesitated ; then 
 said earnestly: 
 
 ^^But how can I accept it? I 
 cannot stay within the hill, but 
 must go home again very soon." 
 
 The spokesman bowed and with- 
 drew and again there was a low 
 hum of discussion. 
 
 In a few moments he returned, 
 and bowing again, said: 
 
 "Most beautiful princess, even 
 that, we think, need not hinder, if 
 
^O Stories 
 
 you are willing to be our queen. 
 Our dying king bade us look, not 
 for a strong ruler, but for a beauti- 
 ful girl. We live, as he said, simply 
 and quietly and follow out the rules 
 which he laid down for us long 
 ago, and through our years of wait- 
 ing and searching, we have learned 
 to depend upon ourselves from day 
 to day. 
 
 ^'But look at us, dear maid; — 
 we are little and brown and ugly 
 and we live among these hard, dead 
 stones. Sometimes we go out and 
 see the bright, living beauty of the 
 upper world, but no bit of it be- 
 longs to us. From day to day we 
 look at these ugly rocks and the 
 dark earth and then at one an- 
 other, and we are sorrowful and 
 discouraged. I think we should 
 almost have grown to hate our- 
 selves and each other but for this 
 quest set us by our wise old king. 
 It has given us something to hope 
 
Most Beautiful Maiden 5 1 
 
 for and to dream about and now its 
 fulfillment will bring us happiness, 
 if you can do what we ask. You 
 will live in your own world and be 
 of it; — nor should we wish, even 
 if we could, to shut you up in our 
 underground home. But we shall 
 know that you belong to us; you 
 will visit us sometimes, and we 
 shall have a part in your thoughts. 
 Will you take the crow^n with our 
 love and duty?" 
 
 The princess smiled, dropped on 
 her knees and bent her head until 
 her little subjects, standing tip-toe, 
 could set the crown upon it. Then 
 she rose and said: 
 
 ''I am not very old yet and I do 
 not know how to be a queen, but I 
 shall try to learn so that I can be a 
 good one. I must go back now, 
 for my people will be seeking me; 
 but I shall take the crown with me 
 and set it in my chamber, and every 
 day I shall remember that I belong 
 
52 St 
 
 ones 
 
 to you and you to me. Soon I shall 
 visit you again, if you will send me 
 a guide until I have learnt the way 
 alone. 
 
 **One thing more I want to say: 
 — you have chosen me because you 
 think I am the most beautiful maid 
 in the world, but you have not seen 
 all. Now if, when I am your 
 queen, you should find someone 
 who seems to you prettier, you must 
 not forget that I shall no longer be 
 your rightful ruler, nor fear to 
 wound me by telling me the truth. 
 Will you promise me this?" 
 
 A murmur of assent answered 
 her, and, bidding them goodbye, 
 she started home. 
 
 During the years which fol- 
 lowed, she often visited her little 
 subjects, learning their ways and 
 helping them with simple counsel. 
 In this new interest she lost her 
 loneliness and grew as bright and 
 happy as she was beautiful. 
 
Most Beautiful Maiden 53 
 
 While she was still young, she 
 became queen of her father's land; 
 then she was married and a few 
 years afterward a little daughter 
 was born to her. Still she visited 
 her hill-people and learned, year 
 by year, to love them better. 
 
 So the years passed quietly until 
 her babe had grown into a tall, 
 slender girl of seventeen. Then 
 one day, standing with her before 
 a mirror, the queen looked startled 
 and then very thoughtful. 
 
 'What is it, mother?" asked the 
 girl. "You look at me so strange- 
 ly, — almost sadly." 
 
 The queen smiled and kissed her 
 daughter quietly. 
 
 "No, I am glad, not sorry, my 
 child, but I cannot tell you to- 
 night. To-morrow you shall know 
 of what I was thinking." 
 
 The next day she bade the girl 
 dress herself in a simple gown of 
 soft, white stuff ; then put a garland 
 
54 Stories 
 
 of fresh roses on her head and, giv- 
 ing her a bunch of long-stemmed 
 blossoms, led her into the garden 
 where the violets still grew in their 
 quiet corner. She seated herself 
 and told her daughter the story of 
 her kingdom within the hill; then 
 took her hand, saying: 
 
 ''Now I want you to visit these 
 little folk." 
 
 She led her within the hill and 
 solemnly assembled all her little 
 subjects. 
 
 Standing before them, with her 
 daughter beside her, she said: 
 
 ''Long ago, you chose me for 
 your queen because you thought me 
 more beautiful than any other maid 
 you had ever seen, and all through 
 these years of my womanhood you 
 have served me faithfully. But 
 beauty fades with years and though 
 I have thought little about it and 
 you have shown no dissatisfaction, 
 I must long since have ceased to re- 
 
Mcst Beautiful Maiden 55 
 
 mind you of the sky and the clouds 
 and the summer flowers and all the 
 loveliness of those growing things 
 from which you are shut away in 
 your daily lives. Surely it is time 
 that I should lay aside a crown 
 which no longer belongs to me." 
 
 She paused a moment, then went 
 on with a little catch in her voice: 
 
 ^'I should not wish to ask you to 
 replace me by a queen of my choos- 
 ing. You must use your own eyes ; 
 yet it would be easier for me to 
 give up this crown, w^hich has so 
 long been dear to me, if I could 
 see it set upon my daughter's head. 
 To me she seems more beautiful 
 than I ever was, but you must 
 judge for yourselves." 
 
 She led the girl forward where 
 all could see her and waited. 
 
 There was quick, low speech 
 among the people; then all knelt 
 excepting three or four who pressed 
 forward eagerly to the queen's feet. 
 
56 Stories 
 
 One of these spoke clearly: 
 
 "My queen, I speak not for my- 
 self, but for all your subjects. Your 
 daughter is as fair as a young girl 
 can well be, and if we had a crown 
 to offer, we should gladly give it to 
 her. But, dear madame, look once 
 more in the glass, or better, ask 
 your daughter. It may be that your 
 cheeks are no longer like the sum- 
 mer roses, nor your skin like sun- 
 bathed lilies — I do not know. But 
 I do know that your eyes are deep- 
 er and softer than in your girlhood 
 and that for us, who have so long 
 looked to you for help and sym- 
 pathy, your face has each year 
 gained more of the sweetness which 
 gives meaning to the world's beau- 
 ty. We have but one crown, my 
 queen, and that is yours for all 
 your life." 
 
 The queen's eyes filled and she 
 said softly: 
 
 "Are you sure, are you sure?" 
 
Most Beautiful Maiden 57 
 
 There was quick assent from all 
 the little people; and silently, as in 
 her girlhood, she knelt before 
 them, placing the gleaming crown 
 on the ground. Again she bent her 
 head and let them set the crown 
 upon it. 
 
 Then she rose and said : 
 
 "I thank you; I thank you all, 
 and I shall keep this little crown 
 for all my life without further 
 doubt or fear." 
 
 So she ruled them happily all 
 her life, and at her death they 
 chose her daughter queen ; nor was 
 there ever lacking a fair woman of 
 her house to guide and help the 
 little hill people. 
 
THE LAND OF SUNSHINE 
 
 THERE was once a country 
 of rich, fertile lowlands, and 
 soft rolling, wooded hills, 
 called the Land of Sunshine; for 
 from year's end to year's end the 
 sky was always blue and the air 
 bright with sunlight. 
 
 Yet flowers and grass and corn 
 and all sweet growing things 
 throve there, for a broad river 
 flowed down from neighboring 
 mountains through the valley, and 
 springs in the lower hills fed many 
 a clear brook. There were showers 
 too, sometimes, — warm and re- 
 freshing, but the clouds never gath- 
 ered thick or solid over the sky, 
 and the raindrops fell sunkissed. 
 And the people throve like the 
 crops that they tended, growing 
 
The Land of Sunshine 59 
 
 tall and strong and comely, — a 
 goodly race and a happy one. 
 
 But over this fair land and its 
 lighthearted people there hung 
 ever a menace of disaster — a 
 trouble touching their else care- 
 free lives with a strange forebod- 
 ing. 
 
 Bordering the Land of Sunshine 
 on the west lay a great forest of fir 
 trees, stretching for many miles 
 black and gloomy against the sky. 
 At times there gathered over this 
 forest dark, sombre storm-clouds, 
 and the people in the sunny valley 
 heard peals of thunder, rushing 
 winds, and the crash and rending 
 of mighty trees. At such times ter- 
 ror filled the land; strong men 
 ceased their work to watch the far- 
 off storm with dread in their eyes; 
 mothers caught up their children, 
 soothing them with trembling 
 voices. Not only was the sight and 
 sound of elemental violence in it- 
 
6o Stories 
 
 self terrible to this gently nurtured 
 folk, but tradition added to their 
 fear. The story had come down 
 through generations, that deep in 
 that forest there lived a powerful 
 and malevolent giant, whose rage 
 caused storm and darkness, and 
 some day, so ran the sombre 
 prophecy, — some day, though none 
 knew when, that rage would surely 
 find vent beyond the forest, and 
 storm and earthquake would sweep 
 the valley bare of life, leaving only 
 sun-bathed desolation. 
 
 From this fate there was but one 
 possible escape. It might be, that 
 if the king's eldest born should 
 choose to face the monster for his 
 people's sake, and should come 
 home victorious, he would win 
 safety for his kingdom. And from 
 time to time young princes had 
 taken the task upon themselves and 
 had gone bravely forth. Some had 
 never returned or been heard of 
 
The Land of Sunshine 6i 
 
 more; a few, it was said, had come 
 back after weeks or months of wan- 
 dering, broken and aged, having 
 found no giant, but spent by the 
 horror and loneliness of the forest. 
 For many years no such attempt 
 had been made, and these adven- 
 turous princes, too, had become 
 traditional. 
 
 At the time of my story there 
 was in the king's palace no prince, 
 but a motherless girl of eleven 
 years, the center of her father's love 
 and of his people's. 
 
 It was never meant that she 
 should know so soon, this threaten- 
 ed danger, and all believed her ig- 
 norant, but she had pieced together 
 broken bits of conversation — ser- 
 vants' chatter, talk of her play- 
 mates, whispers between her father 
 and mother, while the queen yet 
 lived — until all was clear to her, 
 and though with a child's strange 
 reticence, she kept it to herself, yet 
 
62 Stories 
 
 is was often in her thoughts. In her 
 childish imaginings she was one of 
 those princes who had gone forth 
 with such gay courage; but the 
 dream expeditions always ended 
 successfully. In her visions she re- 
 turned with the monster's horrid 
 head at her saddle-bow to be greet- 
 ed by wild acclaim from all the 
 country side. Then the reality 
 would break through her fancies; 
 she was after all but a little maid, 
 and weak; never, never could she 
 even try to conquer giants, however 
 great the need — and many times 
 she wept that it was so. 
 
 Every year on the princess' 
 birthday there was great rejoicing 
 throughout the land, and all the 
 children, gentle and simple, rich 
 and poor, made festival with flow- 
 ers and games and music. For her 
 eleventh birthday the plans were 
 unusually elaborate. The little 
 princess and many hundreds of 
 
The Land of Sunshine 63 
 
 children from the capital city were 
 to be taken out into the country, to 
 a beautiful spot lying towards the 
 west, where they could amuse 
 themselves all day long with dances 
 and sylvan games and contests. 
 
 Soon after daybreak the merry 
 procession left the town. First 
 there were outriders and trumpet- 
 ers — young nobles of the court, in 
 gay uniform.s and mounted on 
 prancing black horses. Then, seat- 
 ed in a great shell-shaped coach of 
 scarlet poppies and drawn by eight 
 milk-white ponies, came the prin- 
 cess, dressed as a flower queen. A 
 crown of starry white blossoms 
 bound her loosely curling golden 
 hair and in her hand she held, as a 
 sceptre, a great white lily. Her 
 robe, too, was of clinging white 
 stuff, but over it were thrown 
 strings of tiny flowers of many pale, 
 bright colors. With her radiant, 
 childish beauty set ofif by the simple 
 
64 Stories 
 
 sumptuousness of the flowers, she 
 was a vision of fairylike loveliness 
 — one deeply imprinted on many 
 hearts and held throughout life as 
 a dearly cherished memory. After 
 the royal carriage, came the mil- 
 itary escort — a company of boys 
 who formed the princess' special 
 body-guard, and following them a 
 long line of carriages and riding 
 ponies with happy, excited chil- 
 dren, all in holiday dress and 
 adorned with flowers. Of the 
 grown people, some had already 
 gone to the chosen place to make 
 needful preparations; others, who 
 had w^aited in the streets or houses 
 to see the pretty procession pass, 
 followed after. 
 
 The princess was very happy 
 and all through the morning she 
 watched the spectacles prepared 
 for her amusement or joined in the 
 games light-heartedly. But in the 
 afternoon, as the sun dropped to- 
 
The Land of Sunshine 65 
 
 ward the west and threw the great 
 fir-wood into sharper relief, the 
 forest and its mystery took hold on 
 all her thoughts. She had never 
 been so near it before, and her eyes 
 would turn wistfully out over the 
 bright fields that lay near her to 
 the gloom and darkness just beyond. 
 At last, in a pause of the games, 
 when for a few moments she was 
 unnoticed by her attendants, she 
 started off alone toward the w^est. 
 Straight through the fields she 
 went, half unconscious of her direc- 
 tion — a pretty figure, if anybody 
 had looked to see, as she walked 
 waist-deep in the rippling green 
 grasses, the sun that bathed the 
 level fields brightening her hair 
 into a golden halo. She walked on 
 slowly, almost forgetting forest 
 and giant in sheer joy of freedom 
 and pleasure in the soft, murmur- 
 ing breezes, the little field flowers 
 and blue and golden butterflies. 
 
66 St 
 
 ones 
 
 Soon she had a great sheaf of rosy 
 clover and yellow-hearted daisies, 
 but was led ever onward by a pret- 
 tier flower or a brighter butterfly 
 — a little Persephone of the fields 
 going heedlessly toward the deep, 
 sunless pine-gloom. 
 
 It was not until the shadows cast 
 by the first trees fell dark across 
 her path that she quite realized 
 how far she had walked and that 
 she was alone in this place so 
 dreaded by all her race. Her first 
 impulse was to run back quickly to 
 the sun-steeped, peopled carnival 
 ground, but other instincts pre- 
 vailed. She felt very far away 
 from her companions and the shim- 
 mering fields between looked very 
 wide. Then, too, the strangeness 
 of the forest, though it awed her, 
 yet enticed, and in its new and curi- 
 ous fashion it was very beautiful. 
 The great trees were more mag- 
 nificent than anything she had ever 
 
The Land of Sunshine 67 
 
 seen or imagined, and between 
 their swaying tops she could still 
 see the friendly blue sky. The first 
 trees, too, grew somewhat wide 
 apart and the sunlight filtered 
 through their branches, lying in 
 delicate, golden tracery over the 
 shadowed carpet of soft, elastic 
 pine-needles. But deeper than all 
 her childish curiosity and love of 
 adventure was the thought that she 
 was almost face to face w^ith the 
 mysterious enemy of her country, 
 and there surged over her once 
 more the strong attraction of the 
 old princely stories. So that it was, 
 after all, true courage that carried 
 her forward down the long, green 
 aisles of the forest. 
 
 There was little underbrush and 
 she walked on quickly, noticing 
 curiously the strange things about 
 her, yet too eager to reach her goal 
 for any delaying. It was like a 
 new world to her in whatever di- 
 
68 Stories 
 
 rection she looked: overhead the 
 tall, rustling trees that seemed to 
 stretch up to the sky; underfoot the 
 aromatic needles or exquisitely del- 
 icate mosses; about her, green 
 shadows pierced through by fret- 
 ted sunlight. There were pale 
 flowers, too, that she had never seen 
 before, brilliant woodpeckers and 
 chattering squirrels. 
 
 She walked far without tiring, 
 but at length, as the ground grew 
 rough and broken and the shadow 
 under the more closely growing 
 trees, deepened, weariness and fear 
 came upon her at once and she sank 
 sobbing to the earth. Every sound 
 added to her terror: the soughing 
 of the light wind in the tree-tops 
 seemed full of sadness and of 
 threat; the crackling of a twig, the 
 whir of a bird's wing, the ripple 
 of water in an unseen stream: — 
 all w^ere frightful, while the green 
 gloom seemed peopled with dim. 
 
The Land of Sunshine 69 
 
 horrible shapes pressing forward 
 from all directions. She buried 
 her face in the moss and, pressing 
 her hands over her ears, lay quiet 
 until, at last, utterly spent with 
 fright and weeping, she fell asleep. 
 
 When she awoke the shadows had 
 changed from green to purple and 
 a silvery radiance over the trees 
 and a star or two shining down be- 
 tween the branches, showed her 
 that it was night. Yet she was 
 calmer; and though, perhaps, no 
 less afraid, she arose and made her 
 way forward once more — forward 
 or back, she no longer knew in 
 which direction she was going. 
 
 Her progress was now a contin- 
 ual struggle and she was often 
 forced to throw herself to the 
 ground for rest. Hunger and thirst 
 beset her now and then, too, though 
 several times she got refreshment 
 from a clear stream, or a bush of 
 scarlet berries. 
 
"JO Stories 
 
 At last when the shadows were 
 deepening toward the second night- 
 fall, she became aware of a new 
 sound not far distant — the move- 
 ment, she felt sure, of some living 
 thing. Choking down her fear she 
 made her way toward it resolutely, 
 through an almost impenetrable 
 tangle of undergrowth. She strug- 
 gled on, blinded by wet leaves, 
 scratched by thorns, caught a doz- 
 en times and held fast — then sud- 
 denly emerged into an open space. 
 
 She stopped, catching her breath 
 in surprise and fright. About 
 twenty feet from her there was a 
 huge, rough boulder, in shape 
 somewhat like an altar or an anvil, 
 and beside it, drooping forward in 
 an attitude of weariness and sad- 
 ness, was a human creature. He 
 was enormous, — quite a foot taller 
 than the tallest of her stalwart 
 countrymen, and his girth was pro- 
 portionate. But as she looked 
 
The Land of Sunshine 71 
 
 closely at him, what most impressed 
 her tender child's mind was not his 
 mighty, sinewy strength, but his 
 look of despair. She had expected 
 to find a fierce, raging monster, 
 joyful in his wickedness, and here, 
 instead, was this man for whom 
 she felt pity instead of hatred. 
 
 She walked forward timidly and 
 said: 
 
 ^^Who are you and why do you 
 live in the forest?" 
 
 The giant raised his head quick- 
 ly and she saw that he was almost 
 blind. A great wonder spread 
 over his gray old face as he asked 
 slowly and with difficulty: 
 
 ^What are you and whence do 
 you come?" 
 
 She answered quietly: 
 
 "I come from the Land of Sun- 
 shine and I am a princess of that 
 country." 
 
 Then she questioned him and he 
 answered. He spoke in a thick 
 
72 Stories 
 
 guttural voice, as one long unac- 
 customed to speech, and, though 
 his language was hers, he used a 
 rough dialect, so that it was hard 
 for the princess to understand. 
 
 But at last she had his story. It 
 seemed that long before the giant 
 was born his grandfather had been 
 king of a mighty race dwelling in 
 the clefts of the mountains. He 
 did not know where, excepting that 
 it was probably far westward. To- 
 ward the end of the king^s reign an 
 evil man had gained much power 
 among the people, and at the king's 
 death his son, then a youth, was 
 overpowered by conspirators, car- 
 ried off, and with his girl-wife, set 
 down in the forest. 
 
 At first they tried to find their 
 way home again, but after repeated 
 failures they gave up and settled 
 to a forest life. Children came to 
 them and in that warm and pleas- 
 ant climate, with roots and berries 
 
The Land of Sunshine 73 
 
 for food and the trees for shelter, 
 they had lived happily enough un- 
 til their sons grew to early man- 
 hood. Then, moved by ambition 
 for their children, they had tried, 
 over and over again, to find their 
 own home, sure that their people 
 would, long since, have tired of the 
 usurper's rule. 
 
 But all efforts were fruitless. 
 Arms of the woods seemed to 
 stretch interminably toward the 
 west, and when, once or twice, they 
 did get free from the forest, it was 
 only to find impossible crevasses 
 or waste stretches of sand or stone. 
 
 After they had at last given up 
 all hope they wandered gradually 
 toward the east finding it pleasant- 
 er in that direction. One day they 
 came, by chance, upon this open 
 spot with the great altar-shaped 
 rock and a huge, rough hammer of 
 stone lying beside it. In sport, one 
 of the youths threw the hammer at 
 
74 Stories 
 
 the rock and they were startled by 
 a heavy peal of thunder and a vivid 
 flash of lightning. Repeated trials 
 proved that storm always followed 
 a blow of the hammer upon the 
 rock. Over and over again, they 
 tried it, sometimes in sport and 
 boyish daring; sometimes hoping, 
 when the storm grew fierce and the 
 earth shook beneath their feet, that 
 perhaps a way of escape into the 
 great world might be opened to 
 them.^ 
 
 So they took up the great stone 
 hammer and fixed it above the altar 
 as a lasting memorial of the prin- 
 cess' courage and devotion to her 
 people and a witness for all time 
 that henceforth none need dread. 
 
 ^The connecting part of this story has been lost. 
 
 G. R. P. 
 
Translations 
 
THE BRAIN-MENDER 
 By Felix Duquesnel 
 
 IN the great square of Ispahan, 
 old Abou-Hassan had a drug- 
 shop. Shall we call it a drug- 
 shop ? — For old Abou-Hassan was 
 quite as much a sorcerer as an 
 apothecary. If he had no equal in 
 pointing aright the instrument dear 
 to Moliere, he made also marvel- 
 ous cures; read hands like the late 
 Desbarolles; predicted the future 
 simply from an account of the 
 past; treated with mysterious 
 words the most rebellious wounds; 
 and finally, he consulted coffee- 
 grounds and mandrake roots pulled 
 on Mount Chiraz during the sev- 
 enth night of the New Moon. 
 From all parts of Asia people 
 
yS Translations 
 
 flocked to ask him for miracles and 
 to implore help from his art. 
 
 The doctors of Ispahan were an- 
 gry. So, from under their pointed 
 astrakan caps, they had opined that 
 appeal must be made to the magis- 
 trate for justice upon this spoil- 
 trade who cured without a diplo- 
 ma. And the medical body had 
 gone in great pomp to its dean, 
 Sidi-Bougredane, to ask his inter- 
 vention. 
 
 He, a man of ponderous mind 
 and in touch with wisdom, uniting 
 the prudence of the serpent with 
 the cleverness of the crow, caressed 
 his beard and gave himself over to 
 reflection. Then, having dozed 
 and asked counsel of Shiva, god- 
 dess of good resolutions, he de- 
 cided that the best thing was to do 
 nothing and let the water flow. 
 
 ''Let us take care," he said, "not 
 to anger the populace : the torrent 
 
The Brain-Mender 79 
 
 would overleap the dyke and, furi- 
 ous at the obstacle, would sweep 
 us away like straws in its brutal 
 course! Since the common people 
 are for Abou-Hassan, let us bend 
 to their will. Even that will be 
 better than seeing the Faculty of 
 Medicine flame up like dry wood !" 
 This good advice was followed 
 and Abou-Hassan was allowed to 
 continue, without opposition, the 
 course of his little business, for 
 which he had had a sign engraved 
 in letters of gold on a background 
 of mosaic: 
 
 "THE POSSIBLE IS IMMENSE." 
 
 The day of the great turquoise 
 market — you know those beauti- 
 ful Persian turquoises which are 
 unchangeable and never fade be- 
 cause they do not know weariness 
 such as causes the green death of 
 
8o Translations 
 
 their Caucasian sisters, — on this 
 day, I say, his shop swarmed with 
 the crowd eager to demand health 
 and to seek a cure for its ailments. 
 And, indeed, it was a curious 
 place and truly strange, that shop 
 filled with vases of enamelled 
 earthenware and with transparent 
 jars, symmetrically arranged and 
 bearing odd inscriptions. For be- 
 sides the conventional medical 
 terms, that all countries of the 
 world borrow from the Latin lan- 
 guage, — Diascordium, Theriaca^ 
 or Pulvis cinchonae — known to the 
 illiterate as "quinine powder," — 
 there were others more suggestive, 
 such as these, for example: extract 
 of illusion^ for the aged; grains of 
 good sense^ for the use of every- 
 body; pills of independence^ for 
 the magistracy; — or yet others: 
 court-plaster, for those who have 
 meddled with edged tools] essence 
 
The Brain-Mender 8i 
 
 of foresight^ for generals and com- 
 missaries of the army; spirits of 
 modesty^ for musicians and men of 
 letters; and on the rounded side of 
 an enormous mortar filled with a 
 fatty substance having metallic and 
 golden gleams, there stood out 
 these words in huge letters: ^^Oint- 
 tnent for Greasing Itching Palmsy 
 And this mendicament was not the 
 least sought after, — the spatula 
 was thrust into it ceaselessly, 
 scarcely able to supply the demand. 
 
 Toward the end of the day, when 
 the hour of calm comes, — "be- 
 tween dog and wolf," as the saying 
 goes, — let us say between day and 
 night, — Abou-Hassan saw enter 
 his shop a person of distinguished 
 appearance, but of undecided bear- 
 ing: his face was sad and vague, he 
 was long as a day of waiting, rather 
 soft than flexible, rather flabby than 
 
82 Translations 
 
 supple, more like a leek than a 
 reed, and his blue eyes swam un- 
 certainly. 
 
 *^Sir, what do you wish?" asked 
 old Abou-Hassan. 
 
 ''I do not know," replied the 
 new-comer, '^I suffer from a strange 
 malady and come to seek a rem- 
 edy." 
 
 '^How do you feel?" 
 
 ''There it is! My conscience is 
 undecided and troubled; I can no 
 longer distinguish between good 
 and evil ; my ideas lack logical or- 
 der; I go first one way and then 
 the other, without knowing why; 
 in short, it seems to me that my 
 brain is unbalanced and needs re- 
 pairing." 
 
 ''What is your name and what is 
 your profession?" 
 
 "My name is Ali-Gaga, and I 
 am a lawyer." 
 
 "Eh ! Your state of health seems 
 
The Brain-Mender 83 
 
 grave to me! Anyhow, we shall 
 see what the trouble is. Sit down 
 there — " 
 
 And the old doctor took up a 
 hammer of tempered steel. With a 
 sharp little blow upon a cold chisel 
 he lifted the top of Ali-Gaga's 
 skull as he might the lid of a box. 
 
 Ali-Gaga felt a current of cool 
 air through his brain and began to 
 sneeze, while the operator, after 
 pressing a watch-maker's glass 
 over his right eye, attentively con- 
 sidered the lawyer's skull. 
 
 "Atchi! I think decidedly that 
 I am catching cold in my brain," 
 exclaimed Ali-Gaga, sneezing 
 again. "Atchi! there it is again I 
 I shall have a severe cold in my 
 head." 
 
 "It won't amount to anything; 
 besides, I am going to take out 
 your brain and that will greatly in- 
 convenience the cold, for it will 
 
84 Translations 
 
 have nowhere to vent its malice. 
 Don't move, it will only take a 
 minute." 
 
 And armed with a sort of silver 
 skimmer old Abou-Hassan gently- 
 lifted out Ali-Gaga's brain, with- 
 out shock and all in one piece. He 
 laid it with extreme care upon a 
 marble table and examined it in de- 
 tail, sighing several times, clacking 
 his tongue, shrugging his shoul- 
 ders, — all which did not show 
 complete satisfaction; in short, his 
 face expressed only partial con- 
 tent. 
 
 ^^Well?" asked Ali-Gaga anx- 
 iously. 
 
 ^'Well! there is much to be done. 
 Between ourselves mending won't 
 do. It must be completely made 
 over; you shall have it for sixty 
 tomansJ^ 
 
 ^^Hum! That is dear." 
 
 "Take it or leave it. But just 
 think! Here, look at this little 
 
The Brain Mender 85 
 
 mirror : it is your conscience. It is 
 dim, very dim; it must be newly 
 silvered and repolished ; it has been 
 completely clouded by skepticism. 
 As to your brain, it is honey- 
 combed by false ideas which have 
 penetrated it in all directions, and 
 your logic is entirely broken down. 
 Nevertheless, it is plain that you 
 were born intelligent and honest; 
 but your good qualities have been 
 choked by ambition. In short, it is 
 all in very bad condition; there is 
 six weeks' hard work on it. After 
 that I shall give you back a clear 
 conscience and a brain like new; 
 and truly, that is not dear at sixty 
 tomans.^^ 
 
 While saying this he covered 
 Ali-Gaga's brain with a glass cyl- 
 inder, a sort of cheese-bell such as 
 watch-makers use to protect the 
 works of watches during repairs. 
 
 Then he closed the empty skull 
 and fastened it with a bit of glue. 
 
86 Translations 
 
 ''Now," he added, "you may 
 come back in six weeks and I shall 
 put everything back into place." 
 
 ''Eh! Eh!" exclaimed Ali-Gaga, 
 arising staggeringly, "that has a 
 queer effect on me; my heart feels 
 light and my head perfectly emp- 
 ty. — I miss something." 
 
 "It always has that effect for a 
 moment, but you will get used to it 
 very soon, and in a week you'll 
 think no more about it. Goodbye 
 then!" 
 
 The six weeks passed and Ali- 
 Gaga's brain, put into condition 
 again, was like new, the work hav- 
 ing been done with the utmost care. 
 
 Abou-Hassan was delighted with 
 his work, rejoicing at the ap- 
 proaching return of his client, 
 whose joy and astonishment he 
 counted upon in advance, and at 
 the thought he laughed into his old 
 white beard. 
 
The Brain Mender 87 
 
 But Ali-Gaga did not meet his 
 appointment. 
 
 Weeks became months, months 
 became years, and still Ali-Gaga 
 did not come! 
 
 Eight years had passed in this 
 way since the day when Ali-Gaga 
 had come to Abou-Hassan, and the 
 latter, who had grown impatient at 
 hearing nothing from his client 
 and was thinking of leaving his 
 shop and retiring to the country 
 with the fortune he had made, said 
 to himself that the best thing he 
 could do would be to sell Ali- 
 Gaga's brain at second-hand to 
 some amateur in need of supple- 
 mentary mentality. He had even 
 begun to bargain with a magis- 
 trate, when one day at sundown 
 someone knocked at his door. 
 
 "It is I," said a voice which he 
 seemed to recognize. 
 
 And Ali-Gaga entered, a little 
 
88 Translations 
 
 embarrassed, like a man who is not 
 quite on time. 
 
 "Excuse me;" he said, '^I am a 
 little late.'' 
 
 ^^Damel only eight years, and 
 you come in the nick of time: I 
 was on the point of making over 
 your brain at second-hand — " 
 
 '^Ohno! Don't do that! No in- 
 deed, no, nonsense! I think a great 
 deal of my brain and I've come to 
 get it." 
 
 "Without impertinence, why 
 have you delayed so long? Was it 
 for lack of money? I should have 
 given you credit." 
 
 "No, it was not on that account: 
 I will tell you my reasons. After 
 my former visit I threw myself into 
 politics : first I became deputy, then 
 minister, — even Prime Minister. 
 And I thought that in that new sit- 
 uation my conscience was useless; 
 that it would, perhaps, be trouble- 
 some, — and that my brain, at all 
 
The Brain Mender 89 
 
 events, was assuredly superfluous." 
 ^^Eh! Eh! Not such bad reason- 
 ing as things go — " 
 
 ^^So I left all that encumbrance 
 with you for safe-keeping." 
 ^^Well, then, — and to-day?" 
 "To-day — the shah has put us 
 out at the door. There has been a 
 change of ministry. — I am no 
 longer of any importance and am 
 retiring to private life. So then, I 
 said to myself, that although I 
 needed neither my brain nor my 
 conscience while managing public 
 afifairs, for which I care not a whit, 
 it is different now when it is a ques- 
 tion of managing my own affairs, 
 which are, assuredly, much dearer 
 to me; and accordingly I have 
 come to take back both from you. 
 Here is your money. Go and — " 
 "Sit down there," said Abou- 
 Hassan, and picking up again the 
 little hammer of fine steel and the 
 cold chisel, he reopened Ali-Gaga's 
 
90 Translations 
 
 skull at the same place and replaced 
 the brain, after carefully dusting it. 
 
 ''There you are!" he said; ''and 
 now, how do you feel?" 
 
 "Very queer! My head feels 
 heavy — as if I had sick-headache." 
 
 "That will be all right! It is 
 only lack of habit." 
 
 "Ah, but it is intolerable — " 
 
 "How then?" 
 
 "Here is my conscience bestir- 
 ring itself already; it reproaches 
 me." 
 
 "The explanation is simple: it is 
 making up for lost time; and then, 
 too, I put a new spring in it. After 
 a while you will find that it will be 
 calmer — " 
 
 "You know, old Abou-Hassan, I 
 told you the last time that I lacked 
 something. — This time it is just 
 the opposite, it seems to me that I 
 have too much of something." 
 
LAZARINE 
 By Andre Theuriet 
 
 THE old cabriolet which 
 rolled along with a noise of 
 clanking iron on the road 
 from Chauvigny to La Roche- 
 Posay, stopped short at the en- 
 trance to a village, and Saint-Mar- 
 tial, who was dozing under the 
 hood, opened his eyes suddenly 
 upon hearing the coachman jump 
 to the ground and swear in his 
 Poitevin dialect. 
 
 "What is the matter?" asked the 
 traveler. 
 
 '^I have lost the hub from one of 
 my wheels. Heavens! — We shall 
 have to spend the night here, and 
 lucky enough if we find a wagon- 
 
92 Translations 
 
 maker who can mend my car- 
 riage!" 
 
 Saint-Martial was fifty-four 
 years old. At that ease-loving age 
 the prospect of spending the night 
 in a chance inn did not at all please 
 him; so the coachman's informa- 
 tion put him into a bad humor. He 
 was hoping to arrive before night 
 at the Trappist Abbey of Font- 
 gombault where he had planned to 
 make a retreat, and this unlucky in- 
 cident irritated him. 
 
 Saint-Martial was a disillusioned 
 man. A subtle and delicate man 
 of letters, he had dreamed in his 
 youth, like so many others, of lit- 
 erary fame, and first of all the the- 
 ater had tempted him. But his 
 plays had had only moderate suc- 
 cess and after the war of 1870 he 
 had let himself drift into politics. 
 
 For twenty years he had sat as a 
 deputy at the Palace-Bourbon; 
 then, disgusted with electoral meth- 
 
Lazarine 93 
 
 ods, outraged by the spectacle of 
 trickery, overreaching and shady 
 transactions, he had left parlia- 
 mentary life in complete intellec- 
 tual and moral disorder. He had 
 drained to the dregs the bitter cup 
 of renunciation and did not know 
 where to turn. During those bit- 
 ter hours when all desire for life 
 seemed lost, memories of a pious 
 childhood had returned and he had 
 clutched again at religious ideas as 
 at a plank of safety. That is why, 
 this October evening, he was going 
 toward the Trappist A*bbey of 
 Fontgombault. The Abbot was a 
 friend of his and a hospitable house 
 annexed to the monastery offered 
 to a number of men, disillusioned 
 like himself, the beneficent peace 
 of a half secular, half monastic re- 
 treat. 
 
 His ill humor passed, however, 
 at sight of the friendly and smil- 
 ing landscape before his eyes. The 
 
94 Translations 
 
 road, before entering the village, 
 skirted a promontory bordered by 
 chestnut trees and looked down 
 upon steep, shady streets, gay with 
 little terraced gardens. In front, 
 on a rocky prominence, stood the 
 crumbling, but still noble ruins of 
 a twelfth century chateau. Deep 
 down in the narrow, wooded val- 
 ley, a sinuous river wound between 
 files of yellowed poplars. The sun, 
 a red disk, was sinking behind the 
 woods, and the purple color of the 
 clouds was reflected in the calm 
 water where a fisherman, guiding 
 his boat, came and went, lifting 
 sweep-nets, his slender, busy figure 
 silhouetted in black against the 
 rosy surface of the river. 
 
 ''What is the name of this vil- 
 lage?" asked Saint- Martial of the 
 driver. 
 
 "Angles. — And the river which 
 you see below is the Englin." 
 
 ''Angles!" — These two syllables 
 
Lazarine 95 
 
 had for Saint-Martial a half famil- 
 iar ring. Where and by whom had 
 he heard them spoken before? Cer- 
 tainly the name was not new to 
 him. He made an effort to remem- 
 ber, and little by little the odd 
 name was associated in his mind 
 with certain confused impressions 
 of the theater. Slowly, like a ghost 
 emerging from shadow, a feminine 
 image arose in his memory, the 
 pretty face of an actress, outlined 
 against a piece of scenery. 
 
 Ah, yes indeed! Angles was the 
 village where Lazarine used to own 
 a cottage of whose verdant solitude 
 she boasted to her friends, and of 
 which she spoke as a pleasant re- 
 treat for the time when she should 
 leave the stage. 
 
 Lazarine Percival was formerly 
 one of the most charming actresses 
 of the Gymnasium. At the time 
 when Saint-Martial still believed 
 in his dramatic career, she had 
 
g6 Translations 
 
 taken the leading role in his best 
 play. He had even had for her a 
 platonic tenderness which was still 
 one of the most fragrant memories 
 of his youth. After the war they 
 had lost sight of each other. Laza- 
 rine had left Paris to make foreign 
 tours, and the rumor had gone 
 abroad that after amassing a small 
 fortune, she had decided to realize 
 her dream of a country life. 
 
 While he was passing along the 
 sloping streets, between old-fash- 
 ioned houses with carved gable- 
 ends and overgrown by roses, Saint- 
 Martial saw again Lazarine Per- 
 cival in the supple, comely grace 
 of her twenty-two years, — slender, 
 brunette, with soft color, waving 
 black hair, beautiful coffee-colored 
 eyes, caressing and dreamy, smiling 
 red lips, and an expression of al- 
 most credulous candor; — all which 
 made her, at the theater, an excep- 
 tional creature. "And now," he 
 
Lazarine 97 
 
 thought, '4t would be curious if I 
 should find her again in this vil- 
 lage, where an accident compels 
 me to stop. — I must enquire at 
 once." 
 
 As soon as he was installed at the 
 inn, he asked if there were in the 
 village a lady named Lazarine. 
 The hostess' reply disappointed 
 him: there was nobody of that 
 name in the town. But he reflected 
 suddenly that in coming to the 
 country Lazarine would probably 
 have dropped her stage name, and 
 he tried again, adding that the per- 
 son in question was also called 
 ''Mme. Percival." 
 
 ''Mme. Percival !" cried the land- 
 lady; "Ah, yes indeed, we know 
 her. Such a charming and excel- 
 lent woman and so kind to the 
 poor! She lives not far from the 
 church in a pretty house with gar- 
 dens running down to the river." 
 
 Saint-Martial rearranged his toi- 
 
98 Translations 
 
 let and a boy pointed out to him 
 Lazarine's house. A dull beating 
 of his heart oppressed him. 
 
 "Will she remember me, and 
 will she wish to receive me?" he 
 thought while ringing at the gate- 
 way, from which, across the court- 
 yard blooming with chrysanthe- 
 mums, he could see the house-front 
 covered with flowering vines. 
 
 An old servant-woman wearing 
 a high Poitevin cap, came hastily 
 at his ring and asked him in. Mme. 
 Percival was at home. He gave 
 his card and the servant took him 
 into a little parlor. Just in looking 
 at that elegant and orderly room he 
 recognized the correct and refined 
 taste of Lazarine, who had always 
 been an exquisite little housekeep- 
 er. Autumn roses were in the vases, 
 and on the walls, which were cov- 
 ered with old-rose silk, there hung 
 rare engravings and two or three 
 good landscapes. A wood fire 
 
Lazarine 99 
 
 burned quietly in the fire-place. 
 Skeins of wool were spread out on 
 a work-table and several books lay- 
 on the rosewood desk. 
 
 ^'How shall I find her?" he said 
 to himself; '^much changed, doubt- 
 less, in twenty-five years." 
 
 "What! is it you?" cried a rich 
 and pleasant contralto voice be- 
 hind him. 
 
 He turned and saw before him 
 Lazarine holding out her hands. 
 Ah no, she had scarcely changed. 
 Her hair, it was true, was white 
 and very slightly powdered, and 
 there were fine wrinkles at the cor- 
 ners of her mouth and eyes; but 
 she had kept her slender, supple 
 figure, the grace of her smile, and 
 the clear flame of her deep brown 
 eyes. 
 
 He grasped her two outstretched 
 hands cordially and kissed them; 
 then, as Lazarine expressed sur- 
 prise at his visit, he explained to 
 
lOO Translations 
 
 her the fortunate accident which 
 had compelled him to stop at 
 Angles. 
 
 ^'What a pleasant surprise and 
 how glad I am/' she replied, clap- 
 ping her hands. ''You know you 
 must dine with me. I shall send 
 word to the people at the inn." 
 
 She went out for a moment to 
 give directions to the Poitevin ser- 
 vant, then came back happily, made 
 her guest sit down facing her and 
 began to question him again : 
 
 'Where were you going, then, 
 when your carriage so kindly came 
 to pieces at my door?" 
 
 "To Fontgombault." 
 
 "To the Trappist Abbey? — Do 
 you intend becoming a hermit?" 
 
 "Upon my word, almost that," he 
 replied. 
 
 He confided to her the bitterness 
 left by his parliamentary life, his 
 disgust with politics and with the 
 
Lazarine lOl 
 
 mode of life of his contemporaries. 
 He spoke so bitterly that an affec- 
 tionate compassion softened Laza- 
 rine^s large eyes. In order to recall 
 him to less sombre thoughts, she 
 changed the subject and talked of 
 old times. Together they called up 
 the years of their youth, past hours 
 of companionship at the theater, 
 the day spent in rehearsal, the even- 
 ing in the actress' box, — distant 
 hours which, at the time, were ex- 
 empt neither from troubles nor 
 sadness; but which now, seen 
 through the prism of memory, 
 seemed to them fortunate hours. — 
 She recalled to him friends dead or 
 passed from knowledge, successful 
 plays in which she had created 
 roles. — Then she told him how, 
 tired of her fictitious stage life, she 
 had left it all, one fine day, to come 
 and bury herself in a green corner 
 of Poitou. 
 
I02 Translations 
 
 "You know/' she said, smiling, 
 "I was always, at bottom, a little 
 bourgeoises 
 
 The announcement of dinner 
 surprised them in the midst of this 
 retrospective talk. — An excellent 
 dinner, served on a flower-decked 
 table in the dining-room finished 
 in white, with the crackling of a 
 pretty fire of beach knots in the 
 high fireplace. Lapped in com- 
 fort and tender attentions, Saint- 
 Martial looked with emotion at 
 that friend of former days, reju- 
 venated in the firelight; for her 
 powdered white hair vivified her 
 expressive features and cast an au- 
 rora of youth into her eyes. He 
 felt himself comforted, calmed, and 
 refreshed. His appetite returned; 
 he did honor to the dinner and at 
 dessert sipped appreciatively a 
 foamy old wine of Vovray of which 
 Lazarine had even poured out a 
 finger for herself. 
 
Lazarine 103 
 
 "I remember," she said, "that 
 you were fond of Touraine wines. 
 You always ordered them when we 
 took supper with comrades at the 
 restaurant during the rehearsals of 
 your play. — To your health! Mod- 
 esty apart, my Vouvray is good and 
 you will not find its like at the Ab- 
 bey." 
 
 The Abbey ! Saint - Martial 
 scarcely thought about it any more. 
 He had forgotten his projects of 
 retreat while looking into Laza- 
 rine's eyes. These limpid, coffee- 
 colored irises, so gently caressing, 
 brought back his youth and poured 
 for him a philtre as potent as the 
 wines of Touraine. 
 
 "Lazarine," he murmured sud- 
 denly, his voice slightly changed, 
 "do you know that at one time I 
 was very much in love with you? 
 I did not dare tell you formerly; 
 but so much the worse, this even- 
 ing I risk avowing it." 
 
I04 Translations 
 
 "My dear friend, confidence for 
 confidence — I rather suspected it 
 then, and each moment I was ex- 
 pecting you to tell me. — But you 
 were mute as a fish." 
 
 "I was afraid of being black- 
 balled. One evening when you 
 were leaning against a screen, 
 awaiting your entrance upon the 
 stage, your eyes gleamed so bril- 
 liantly in the shadow that I almost 
 betrayed myself. But at that time 
 it was said that you were loved by 
 Larrien, and my declaration re- 
 mained in my throat." 
 
 "How stupid you were! — I ab- 
 horred Larrien, and if you had said 
 but one word — However, it is old 
 history and there is no use in talk- 
 ing of it." 
 
 "Let us talk of it, on the con- 
 trary," he cried, rising; "I love you 
 yet, and you are still the entrancing 
 Lazarine of former days!" 
 
 At the same time he took her 
 
Lazarine 105 
 
 hands and kissed them with de- 
 light. Lazarine herself, touched 
 by this outbreaking of reborn love, 
 enjoyed silently, for a second, the 
 captivating surprise; but she re- 
 called herself quickly and, escap- 
 ing, she broke into ringing laugh- 
 ter! 
 
 "No, no, my friend, you would 
 not wish it. — Be sensible! Remem- 
 ber that I am an old woman — '' 
 
 "You!" he protested with pas- 
 sion, "you are adorable!" 
 
 "No, I am a good bourgeoises 
 and I think that when one is nearly 
 fifty the weaknesses are no longer 
 permissible. At our ages it is un- 
 wholesome to put another disillu- 
 sionment upon the heart. Folly 
 against folly, it is better that you 
 should go to the Abbey!" 
 
 She laughed. When he saw^ that 
 she was turning the affair into a 
 joke, he sighed and sat dovv^n again, 
 ashamed of his own intoxication. 
 
io6 Translations 
 
 They went back to the parlor, but 
 the conversation languished now in 
 spite of Lazarine's efforts to en- 
 liven it. Saint-Martial had fallen 
 back into his black mood. 
 
 At ten o'clock he took his leave 
 and when she went with him into 
 the antechamber, his hostess mur- 
 mured: 
 
 "Thanks for your welcome visit. 
 — I do not know when we shall see 
 one another again; so let us kiss 
 each other like good old friends.'' 
 
 They kissed and parted sadly. 
 
 The next day Saint- Martial was 
 rolling along on the road to Font- 
 gombault. The sunshiny morning 
 was impregnated with a penetrat- 
 ing smell of autumn; the woods 
 were colored red and violet, and 
 through the air, alive with filmy- 
 winged insects, distant bells rang 
 for the fete of la Toussait. This 
 delicious autumnal adieu made 
 
Lazarine 107 
 
 Saint-Martial think again of Laz- 
 arine's adieu, and he sighed. 
 
 ''After all/' he thought, ''she was 
 right. These dreams are not for 
 our age, and roses out of season 
 leave behind them a bitter per- 
 fume." 
 
 He proceeded sadly toward the 
 Abbey, and when the carriage 
 stopped before the hospitable house 
 reserved for strangers, he read with 
 resignation the inscription cut over 
 the porch : "Cella continuata dul- 
 cessit." 
 
THE EMERALD RING 
 By M. Charles Foley 
 
 CLOTILDE D'ALVAREY 
 had been separated from her 
 brother during the flight 
 from Lavenay. She and all the 
 Vendeans who, with her, had gone 
 astray, had been tracked, surround- 
 ed, crowded together like fright- 
 ened cattle, then thrown into the 
 nearest prison ; — and in such num- 
 bers that the jailers did not even 
 take the trouble to search them. 
 Would they not have ample leisure 
 to despoil the captives when, one 
 by one, they should pass through 
 their hands a few moments before 
 going out to death? 
 
 In that prison, the old, forest- 
 girt stronghold of Maranges, 
 
The Emerald Ring 109 
 
 which had fallen into the hands of 
 the Blues, in the silence and op- 
 pression of thick, dark walls, time 
 seemed retarded, then stopped, in a 
 complete ignorance, — an inter- 
 minable despair. 
 
 There, never guessing that 
 spring was already making green 
 again the surrounding woods, — 
 the prisoners, confined in the long, 
 underground galleries of the for- 
 tress, shivering with cold, and pal- 
 lid in the shadovv^, dreamed of the 
 past as they lay, fully dressed, on 
 their pallets of damp straw, their 
 eyes wide open in the darkness; or 
 else they gathered, panting, under 
 the heavily barred air-hole, 
 through which there came to them 
 the little air and light by which 
 they still lived. 
 
 The gentle Clotilde had, for 
 weeks, suffered this agony with 
 resignation when, one day, in 
 breaking the piece of bread given 
 
I lo Translations 
 
 her by the jailer, she found a letter, 
 folded and refolded for better hid- 
 ing. 
 
 Profiting by the moment when 
 the prisoners were appeasing their 
 hunger, she went alone to the nar- 
 row window, and in the last gleam 
 of greenish light, colored by the 
 bushes growing in the dry foss, she 
 could secretly read this: 
 
 "My sister, the turnkey of the 
 dungeons has been heavily bribed 
 and will let me enter the prison to- 
 night. Since I can save only you I 
 shall not speak to you. I shall 
 carry no light, in order not to 
 awaken any of your companions in 
 misfortune, for the least stir would 
 ruin us. But the jailer tells me 
 that your pallet is the first at the 
 right of the door. When you are 
 lying there, if in the darkness you 
 feel fingers seeking your fingers, 
 do not be frightened ; give me your 
 hand, rise and let yourself be led 
 
The Emerald Ring in 
 
 out into the night without speaking 
 a word. We shall not pause until 
 we have come out from the dun- 
 geons by secret, roundabout ways; 
 we shall not speak to each other 
 until we have escaped and are far 
 within the forest. I only ask you 
 to slip onto one of your fingers the 
 ring I gave you three years ago. I 
 remember the heart-shaped emer- 
 ald and when I touch it I shall be 
 sure that it is you whom I am sav- 
 ing. Your brother, 
 
 "Frederic." 
 
 Clotilde, excited, thinking her- 
 self in a dream, had scarcely hid- 
 den the letter in her bosom, close 
 to her heart swelling suddenly with 
 joy and hope, when the door 
 opened. Several new prisoners 
 were thrust brutally in. One of 
 them soon came to the window. 
 
 Clotilde, standing there in the 
 twilight to look with ecstasy at the 
 
112 Translations 
 
 emerald ring which she still wore 
 on her finger and which was soon 
 to bring her deliverance, raised her 
 eyes and suddenly recognized one 
 of her friends, Huguette de la 
 Moiziere. 
 
 There were kisses, effusions, 
 tears. 
 
 In spite of all Clotilde's caresses 
 and exhortations to have courage, 
 the pretty Huguette, once so gay 
 and vivacious, sobbed on. At last, 
 moved to confidence by the tender- 
 ness of the meeting and grief at be- 
 ing a prisoner, she said in a low 
 voice : 
 
 "Nothing can console me for the 
 loss of liberty, for I love your 
 brother, dear Clotilde, I adore 
 Frederic! We were secretly en- 
 gaged before the expedition across 
 the Loire, — and I have not seen 
 him, since! How grief-stricken he 
 would be if he knew that I am 
 here! Ah, Clotilde, my misfor- 
 
The Emerald Ring 113 
 
 tune will bring sorrow to two, my 
 death will make two victims!" 
 
 At these confidences, impulsive- 
 ly poured out in the expansiveness 
 of recent misfortune; at this com- 
 plaint, vibrating with the uncon- 
 scious selfishness of love, Clotilde 
 first trembled, then grew sad. 
 
 After a heavy, thoughtful si- 
 lence, she made up her mind and 
 replied, very low, in her gentle, re- 
 signed voice: 
 
 ^'You will not die, Huguette. 
 Perhaps you will not even stay long 
 in this prison. Listen to this. Some- 
 times, in the night, a mysterious 
 and charitable protector makes his 
 way into the profound darkness of 
 this dungeon, touches the pallet of 
 a prisoner and gently takes her 
 hand. For those who have risen 
 noiselessly and let themselves be 
 led by the unknown without speak- 
 ing a single word, he has brought 
 libertyr 
 
114 Translations 
 
 '^Ah, what a delightfully roman- 
 tic escape !'' murmured the pretty 
 girl, her imagination already 
 struck with this strange hope, and 
 more quickly reanimated by the 
 improbable story than by the affec- 
 tionate arguments of her friend. 
 "If this good fortune comes to me, 
 Clotilde, you cannot imagine — 
 oh no! you cannot imagine, for you 
 are not engaged, — what joy I shall 
 have in seeing your brother again! 
 The thought that the unknown 
 may come to bring me liberty, to 
 take me to Frederic, will keep my 
 eyes wide open all night. It gives 
 me a fever. And to think that I 
 have nothing from my betrothed, 
 — not a keepsake, not a picture, 
 not even an engagement ring — to 
 sweeten for me this anguished 
 waiting!" 
 
 It seemed to Clotilde that the 
 will of God was seconding her 
 will, and that these last thoughtless 
 
The Emerald Ring 1 1 5 
 
 words of Huguette's were put into 
 her mouth in order to help on her 
 own sacrifice. With heart op- 
 pressed, with eyes full of tears, the 
 poor child drew from her finger 
 the ring with the heart-shaped 
 emerald and, putting it on her 
 friend's finger, said quickly, so 
 that sobs might not choke her 
 voice: 
 
 "Take this keepsake of my broth- 
 er, Huguette; it belongs to you by 
 right since Frederic is engaged to 
 you. Never take off this ring, not 
 even while you sleep." 
 
 "Oh, thanks," murmured Hu- 
 guette, touched and grateful, 
 though not suspecting the full cost 
 of the gift. "Rest assured, this 
 ring shall never leave my finger! 
 In return, dear Clotilde, what can 
 I do for you?" 
 
 "Well," said Mile. d'Alvarey, 
 firm now in her renunciation, "for 
 to-night give me your pallet at the 
 
Ii6 Translations 
 
 back of the prison and take mine 
 near the door. The jailors have 
 thrown fresh straw on your bed, 
 while mine is so packed that I 
 haven't been able to sleep for a 
 week. — And I need rest to renew 
 my courage, — the courage that I 
 shall need to-morrow especially." 
 
 "Very willingly," exclaimed the 
 other, not noticing the veiled mean- 
 ing of these last words. ''It will 
 scarcely be a privation to me, for I 
 cannot sleep. I shall keep think- 
 ing of your brother while pressing 
 this ring to my lips. I feel as if 
 your present were a talisman to 
 bring me good fortune." 
 
 ''I think so too," Clotilde man- 
 aged to say, with a pale smile. 
 
 She said nothing more, fearing 
 that with any clearer explanation 
 Huguette might guess the truth 
 and, generous in her turn, might 
 block the plan by refusal. 
 
The Emerald Ring 117 
 
 Night had come. The two 
 young girls caught each other in 
 a long, close embrace. Then Clo- 
 tilde led Huguette to the bed near 
 the door, passed on to the back of 
 the room and lay down on the fresh 
 straw. 
 
 Both lay a long while — a very 
 long while — without sleeping. 
 The sister prayed. The betrothed 
 kissed the emerald ring. 
 
 But it was Huguette who first 
 closed her eyes. 
 
 Far on in the night she was fall- 
 ing asleep, when a light groping, 
 close at hand, roused her. At first 
 she recoiled timidly, then she re- 
 membered Clotilde's strange tale 
 and, trembling, filled with wild 
 hope, she held out her hand to the 
 groping hand. Fingers seized her 
 fingers and feverishly touched and 
 felt of the emerald in the ring. At 
 once an arm helped her up, and in 
 
ii8 Translations 
 
 silence, holding her breath, she fol- 
 lowed the unknown, who guided 
 and drew her on in the darkness. 
 
 Her elbow struck lightly against 
 iron, then her sleeve brushed a 
 nearer wall, and Huguette guessed 
 that they had passed through the 
 open door and had entered a nar- 
 row passage. 
 
 They walked faster and faster 
 as they went on. After several 
 turns in this dark labyrinth the 
 floor sloped gradually upward and 
 they felt a whiff of warmer air in 
 their faces. Then, by a sort of 
 postern hidden in the entanglement 
 of shrubs, vines, and brambles 
 which had overrun the dry foss, 
 the two fugitives emerged into the 
 darkness of a low wood. Stoop- 
 ing, out of breath from haste and 
 anxiety, slipping from tree to tree 
 under the branches, they were a 
 good while in gaining the great 
 forest. 
 
The Emerald Ring 119 
 
 There, in a sort of clearing, 
 bathed in moonlight, they stood 
 erect, paused, and recognized each 
 other with a double cry of surprise 
 and joy: 
 
 ^^Huguette!" 
 
 ^Tou, Frederic!" 
 
 Frederic asked, with choked 
 breath : 
 
 ''But Clotilde, then, — my sister 
 Clotilde!" 
 
 Wrenching herself quickly from 
 the kisses of her lover, Huguette 
 stammered, suddenly terrified: 
 
 ''Clotilde ? — But I do not know ! 
 She was sleeping, no doubt, at the 
 back of the prison. For this one 
 night your sister asked me to give 
 her my bed and to take hers — " 
 
 "And the emerald ring? How 
 do you come to wear that?" 
 
 "Clotilde gave it to me last even- 
 ing, — telling me to wear it always, 
 even during my sleep, in remem- 
 brance of you!" 
 
I20 Translations 
 
 Together they understood the 
 sublime sacrifice so simply and si- 
 lently accomplished. They grew 
 very pale and instinctively with- 
 drev/ from one another, trembling, 
 as if the joy which they felt were a 
 culpable joy, a stolen joy. 
 
 The thought came to them to go 
 back to the postern, to make their 
 way again into the prison. But it 
 was impossible. Frederic knew 
 that the doors were already closed; 
 the conniving turnkey had finished 
 his round. Already the radiant 
 dawn was show^ing over the tree- 
 tops; the reveille sounded from 
 afar. 
 
 They understood, then, that 
 through Clotilde's innocent deceit 
 and heroic falsehood their happi- 
 ness was assured. 
 
 That time it was regret and grief 
 that brought them together, that 
 threw them into each other's arms. 
 Frederic mechanically slipped his 
 
The Emerald Ring 121 
 
 arm around Huguette's waist to 
 support her trembling steps. And 
 along that green, violet scented 
 path, where nightingales sang, 
 where the sun rained gold, they 
 passed in a close embrace ; but they 
 passed slowly and sadly, without 
 speaking, without even looking at 
 each other, while the emerald of 
 the ring, pressed between their 
 fingers, bit into their flesh like the 
 wound of remorse. And heavy 
 tears fell between their lips, — be- 
 tween their pallid lips which no 
 longer dared to touch one another. 
 
PERRETTE'S LAST 
 BOUQUET 
 
 By Rene Bazin 
 
 SHE was rough, nurse Perrette, 
 I and thin and dry as a nail. 
 She wore the two-winged flut- 
 ed cap of the peasant women of the 
 Loire. It did not improve her 
 angular face, her pointed nose, her 
 lips, shaded by a rather heavy 
 moustache. But what did it mat- 
 ter? Nurse Perrette had never 
 been charming excepting for us. 
 We did not think her homely be- 
 cause she loved us. We thought 
 her very old and even supposed 
 that she had always been so; for 
 nurse Perrette did not change. As 
 far back as I remember, I see her 
 of the same age, or, at least, with 
 
Perrette^s Last Bouquet 123 
 
 the same gray hair, the same black 
 eyes, a little wrinkled at the cor- 
 ners, which thought only of us and 
 which, I believe, could think of 
 nothing else. 
 
 She had raised us all. In re- 
 compense we said ''thou" to her. 
 No one ever knew better how to 
 arrange a closet, fold a child's gar- 
 ments over a chair or oversee a 
 party of loup cache. 
 
 Her cleanliness was extreme. A 
 stain horrified her, — much more 
 than it did us, alas! and I can hear 
 her sighs when, having slipped in 
 the grass in the excitement of play 
 we returned with green stains on 
 the knees of gray knicker-bockers. 
 
 "My little Perrette," we would 
 say, "do not tell it; you would not 
 have us scolded. '^ 
 
 And late in the night, while we 
 were sleeping, watching over them 
 like us, Perrette studied the effect 
 of Panama-wood and invented lo- 
 
124 Translations 
 
 tions on our compromised trousers, 
 rubbing and stretching them out 
 before a discreet fire. 
 
 If we were sick she watched un- 
 til dawn, without taking an hour's 
 sleep, watchful to replace the cov- 
 ers over our arms, listening to our 
 breathing, — sad at seeing us suffer. 
 
 How well I remember her ten- 
 der, anxious glance when, in the 
 days of fever, I awoke and asked : 
 
 "Perrette, have you something to 
 drink? I'm thirsty." 
 
 She arose, the old nurse, and 
 went to get a warm drink, in which 
 she had put flowers of the four 
 seasons. We drank, all at once, 
 spring, summer, autumn, and win- 
 ter; — she believed it, and some- 
 thing like a smile of joy illuminat- 
 ed her face when, overcome again 
 by sleep, our eyelids half closed, 
 and head on the pillow, we said to 
 her: 
 
Perrette^s Last Bouquet 125 
 
 "That was very good, Fm asleep 
 already." 
 
 Perrette's tenderness led her to 
 despotism. In all faith she did not 
 admit that anybody else had any 
 rights over us, nor that anybody 
 knev^ better than she what was fit- 
 ting for each of us. She was usual- 
 ly let alone. But from time to 
 time, she ran counter to the prin- 
 ciple of authority. My mother 
 would say: 
 
 "Perrette, you may put their 
 blue clothes on the children." 
 
 "No madame, certainly I shall 
 not put them on. They are too 
 warm. My children would take 
 cold." 
 
 "You must, and, Perrette, you 
 will put them on." 
 
 "No, madame, I prefer to 
 leave." 
 
 "Go then." 
 
 Perrette packed her trunk. Oh, 
 
126 Translations 
 
 it was not hard to pack, — the poor 
 long trunk of kid-skin! And then 
 at the moment of leaving us, at the 
 last look thrown toward us, she 
 would burst into tears and remain. 
 My mother would forgive her and 
 we would go out in the blue clothes. 
 
 Those dear creatures who raised 
 us — I do not know whether there 
 are any such now. How did they 
 come to love, in such fashion, chil- 
 dren who were not their own? 
 Where did they get such motherly 
 passion, such complete self-forget- 
 fulness, knowing that some day, 
 they would leave the house, and 
 that they would not have a moth- 
 er's right to follow through life 
 those whom they had cradled? Per- 
 haps she was thinking of that, 
 nurse Perrette, when in the even- 
 ing, joining our hands, she had us 
 say without fail : ''Saint Perrette, 
 pray for us." 
 
 She married, one day, after we 
 
Perrette's Last Bouquet 127 
 
 were grown. That news surprised 
 me: 
 
 ^Terrette is to be married." 
 He was not handsome either, her 
 husband. I saw him when I took 
 Perrette to the church — a tall old 
 man, who looked like bronze, pant- 
 ed on the pavement; with tiny eyes, 
 projecting cheekbones and a thread 
 of white beard, — straight and 
 long. 
 
 I think that he married her for 
 financial reasons and that Perrette 
 accepted from grief, — because we 
 were going away from her. They 
 went to live in the country. 
 
 Anyhow, even if Perrette had 
 come she would not have seen me. 
 I was completing my studies at col- 
 lege and soon after I left for Paris. 
 
 But she did not forget. She 
 knew that whether schoolboy or 
 college student, I had an Easter 
 vacation, and each year, early in 
 
128 Translations 
 
 the morning of Easter day, some- 
 body came to the house and left a 
 huge bouquet. From the very 
 first I made no mistake. I recog- 
 nized the favorite flowers of Per- 
 rette. If there were three buds on 
 her climbing roses, she plucked all 
 three and brought to me. For my 
 part, I went to thank her. 
 
 Perrette looked forward to that 
 annual visit. She rejoiced at it. 
 She announced it to her neighbors. 
 
 A strange thing! — when I was 
 there she looked happy, only at the 
 moment when she saw me, when 
 *'her" child of other times ap- 
 proached her. Afterward she was 
 troubled about everything: about 
 the orderliness of the house, which 
 she thought compromised by a leaf 
 blown in by the wind; troubled by 
 the dampness of the floor, which 
 she had scrubbed so long that it 
 could not dry in a week; about the 
 whiteness of the cloth which she 
 
Perrette*s Last Bouquet 129 
 
 had spread upon an old chestnut- 
 wood table; about the quality of 
 the bouillon an mil, which she 
 had made according to old tradi- 
 tions ; and about the time ; and the 
 heat; and the cold. The time was 
 spent in her saying to me : 
 
 "It isn't very pleasant, is it? You 
 aren't comfortable here? It is a 
 poor place!" 
 
 Does one visit his old nurse to 
 notice such trifles? I should have 
 liked to say to her each time : 
 
 "Let us talk of the past, never 
 mind your tablecloth, your bouil- 
 lon, your flowers, your neighbors, 
 but tell me incidents of my child- 
 hood, speak to me of the davs when 
 I was too little to see, when my 
 mother was young and you also 
 were not yet old. Oh, Perrette, re- 
 member!" 
 
 But no, she seemed to remember 
 the past only to offer her useless 
 devotion. Even in walking with 
 
130 Translations 
 
 her along the curving path, cov- 
 ered with yellow sand which bor- 
 dered the vines and favorite carna- 
 tions, her attention was taken by 
 the rising clouds, or by stray grass- 
 es which marred, as she thought, 
 the beauty of the beds of marguer- 
 ites. 
 
 Evidently I was still, for nurse 
 Perrette, the child whom one cares 
 for but does not talk to. 
 
 One day, at Easter time, when 
 I came from Paris, I asked: 
 
 ^'Is the bouquet in my room?" 
 
 ^Wo, monseiur." 
 
 ^'No one brought a bouquet for 
 me, yesterday?" 
 
 ^'No, monseiur." 
 
 'Then Perrette is ill." 
 
 I hastened to her. I found her 
 in bed with a high fever and so sad 
 that it affected me like a premoni- 
 tion. 
 
 ''My house is very disorderly," 
 she said to me in a low voice. "Do 
 
Perrette^s Last Bouquet 131 
 
 not mind it. I can no longer take 
 care of things. For eight days my 
 husband has done it." 
 
 She broke off and, trying to 
 smile: 
 
 ^'Mr. Rene, you came to get your 
 bouquet? It is picked. '^ 
 
 'What, Perrette, sick as you 
 are!" 
 
 ''I did not go out, you know; 
 that would have been too hard. 
 But I had the flowers brought to 
 me and I waited for a chance. — 
 It is there, under the chair." 
 
 Sure enough, under the chair, 
 the ends of the stems in water, was 
 a whole bunch of anemones and 
 carnations, with the air of looking 
 about them, a bit frightened and 
 out of place in the shadow of that 
 room. 
 
 ''I shall take them with me," I 
 said to Perrette. ''I, myself, am 
 the chance. You see I guessed 
 that you couldn't come." 
 
132 Translations 
 
 She talked even less than usual, 
 but she looked at me almost con- 
 stantly, with her eyes, in which the 
 same sole thought, which had been 
 there for more than twenty years, 
 was more clearly expressed than 
 ever: 
 
 "I love you; I raised you; you 
 are my child, too." 
 
 And that consoled her. 
 
 But I saw that another idea was 
 growing in her mind, and soon that 
 idea absorbed her. Perrette be- 
 came deeply troubled, redder yet 
 about the eyes, more pale about the 
 lips. Then, as I tried to distract 
 her attention by recalling old 
 events : 
 
 "Listen, Mr. Rene," she said 
 with a grave expression and a sort 
 of authority, "I have a request to 
 make of you." 
 
 "Anything you like, Perrette." 
 
 "I brought away from your 
 
Perrette's Last Bouquet 133 
 
 house several things which I should 
 not like to leave behind me here 
 if anything should happen to me. 
 You know I brought them away 
 with your mother's permission, and 
 I think a great deal of them. Take 
 them with the bouquet and keep 
 them. If I get well, I shall come 
 for them." 
 
 ''But you will get well, Per- 
 rettel" 
 
 "One never knows. There, in 
 the cupboard." 
 
 What were these things of which 
 she was so fond? I did not re- 
 member ever having seen in her 
 house anything valuable. I opened 
 the two doors of the cupboard, — 
 a piece of cherry-wood furniture 
 which shone in the back of the 
 room. In it there was white linen, 
 a little coffee pot, a package of blue 
 peas, a package of verbenas, scis- 
 sors. 
 
134 Translations 
 
 ^'I find nothing," I said. 
 
 She made an effort to turn and 
 replied: 
 
 "Behind the wicker basket. i — 
 The key, — under the fine blankets, 
 — near a sweet apple." 
 
 I took the basket. I took the 
 key, near a great green apple, as 
 wrinkled as nurse Perrette and 
 which had been preserved there, 
 intact under its withered skin, since 
 the previous autumn. Then I sat 
 down in the back of the room and 
 opened the box resting on my knees. 
 
 Although Perrette was very sick, 
 I at first wanted to laugh. What 
 a fine treasure, in fact! On the 
 blue cotton lining of the basket, 
 rested three objects: a photograph 
 of three young children together; 
 a narrow collar of rabbit's skin 
 with blue satin buttons; and a 
 pasteboard sheep, with one foot 
 lacking. 
 
 "You have found it?" asked the 
 
Perrette's Last Bouquet 135 
 
 poor, feeble voice near the win- 
 dow. And I stopped smiling. 
 And I understood that she had, 
 shut up there, in these things of 
 such slight value, the inestimable 
 tenderness of a memory; that this 
 wretched sheep represented for 
 her, a witness of past days; that 
 this fur collar, formerly worn by 
 one of ''her children," was as a 
 relic in the eyes of the old nurse. 
 
 I arose, I placed the box in Per- 
 rette's bed. She raised herself 
 slightly, took the bit of fur and 
 said, with emotion: 
 
 ''You wore it, Mr. Rene, when 
 you were two years old." 
 
 She looked at the broken sheep 
 and added: 
 
 "You gave it to me after break- 
 ing it. I have always kept it." 
 
 She put her lips to the yellow 
 photograph and kissed it. 
 
 "It pains me to leave them," she 
 added, "but I must." 
 
136 Translations 
 
 She thought for a moment, dried 
 her eyes, and for the first time in 
 her life I saw a flame in them. 
 Her face was transfigured, glori- 
 fied with all the silent love which 
 was at last breaking out, and while 
 I remained standing, touched, 
 seized with respect for my old dy- 
 ing nurse: 
 
 "Mr. Rene," she said aloud, "I 
 have never been happy, except in 
 your house. Mr. Rene, poor wo- 
 men like me make a mistake in 
 marrying, because their happiness 
 is in their children." 
 
 She broke off and began again, 
 raising her hand — her hand that 
 had wearied itself for us. 
 
 "Even in after life I shall not 
 forget you." 
 
 T went away, carrying under my 
 arm the little three legged sheep 
 half hidden by my bouquet. An 
 end of the rabbit-skin collar stuck 
 
Perrette^s Last Bouquet 137 
 
 out of my pocket. And the good 
 people on the street might laugh. 
 As for me, I wept. 
 
 It was the last bouquet of nurse 
 Perrette. 
 
THE PARADISE OF 
 ANIMALS 
 
 By Jules Lemaitre 
 
 OLD Sephora dwelt in the vil- 
 lage of Bethlehem. 
 She lived on the income 
 from a flock of goats and a little 
 field of fig trees. 
 
 When young she had been a ser- 
 vant in a priest's house, so that she 
 was better instructed in religious 
 matters than is usual for persons 
 of her condition. 
 
 Returning to the village she mar- 
 ried and was several times a moth- 
 er, but she lost both husband and 
 children. And from that time, 
 though always helpful to men ac- 
 cording to her ability, the best part 
 of her tenderness was given to ani- 
 
The Paradise of Animals 139 
 
 mals. She tamed birds and mice; 
 she gathered up stray dogs and 
 homeless cats; and her little house 
 was full of these humble friends. 
 
 She cherished animals, not only 
 because they are innocent, because 
 they love devotedly those who love 
 them, and because their fidelity is 
 unequalled, but also because there 
 was within her heart a deep de- 
 mand for justice. 
 
 She did not understand why 
 those should suffer who cannot be 
 wicked nor violate a law which 
 they do not know. 
 
 Human suffering she could ex- 
 plain to herself tolerably well. 
 Taught by the priest, she did not 
 believe that all ended with the 
 dead peace of sheol, nor that the 
 Messiah, at his coming, was mere- 
 ly to establish the earthly dominion 
 of Israel. The "kingdom of God" 
 — that, she believed, would be the 
 reign of justice beyond the tomb. 
 
140 Translations 
 
 In that unknown world, it would 
 clearly appear that merited pain 
 was as expiation. And as for un- 
 deserved and fruitless suffering 
 (like that of little children or of 
 certain unfortunates who have not 
 sinned deeply), it would seem but 
 an evil dream and would be repaid 
 by bliss at least commensurate. 
 
 But animals which suffer; those 
 that die slowly — like men — of 
 cruel sickness, looking at you with 
 gentle eyes ; and dogs whose devo- 
 tion is disregarded or who lose an 
 adored master and eat out their 
 hearts in grief; and horses, weary 
 and beaten, whose long workdays 
 are but a panting effort and whose 
 rest, even, is so cheerless in the 
 dusk of narrow stables; and cap- 
 tive wild things devoured in their 
 barred cages by weary restlessness; 
 and all the miserable creatures 
 whose lives are only hopeless suf- 
 fering and who have not even a 
 
The Paradise of Animals 141 
 
 voice to tell what they endure or 
 to solace themselves with curses; 
 — to what end the suffering of such 
 as these? What do they expiate? 
 Or what con^pensation can await 
 them? 
 
 Sephora was a simple-minded 
 old woman, but because she was 
 hungry for justice she turned over 
 these questions often in her heart; 
 and the thought of unexplained 
 evil obscured for her the beauty 
 of the day and the exquisite colors 
 of the Judean hills. 
 
 When her neighbors came to tell 
 her: 
 
 "The Messiah is born; an angel 
 announced it to us last night; he is 
 with his mother in a stable a quar- 
 ter of a mile from here; and we 
 have adored him." 
 
 Old Sephora replied: 
 
 "We shall see." 
 
 For she had her idea. 
 
142 Translations 
 
 That evening, after caring for 
 her goats, feeding her other ani- 
 mals and caressing them all, she 
 set out for the wonderful stable. 
 
 In the blue-lit enchantment of 
 the night, the plain, the rocks, the 
 trees, even the grass blades seemed 
 stilled by happiness. It was as if 
 all things upon the earth were rest- 
 ing in delicious calm. But old 
 Sephora did not forget that at that 
 very hour unjust Nature was per- 
 forming acts for which there could 
 scarcely be any future reparation; 
 she did not forget that at that very 
 hour, throughout the great world, 
 sick men who were not evil doers, 
 sweated with anguish in their 
 burning beds; that travelers were 
 murdered on the roads; that men 
 were tortured by other men; that 
 mothers wept over little dead chil- 
 dren ; — and that beasts suffered in- 
 expressibly without knowing why. 
 
 She saw before her a light, soft, 
 
The Paradise of Animals 143 
 
 yet so vivid that it paled the moon- 
 light. This light came from a 
 stable hollowed out in a rock and 
 supported by natural pillars. 
 
 Near the entrance the camels 
 slept on bended knees in the midst 
 of a heap of chiseled or painted 
 vases, of baskets of fruit, of heavy 
 out-spread carpets and of half open 
 caskets in which jewels sparkled 
 brightly. 
 
 "What is all that?" asked the old 
 woman. 
 
 "The kings have come," replied 
 a little man. 
 
 "The kings?" said old Sephora 
 frowning. 
 
 She entered the stable, saw the 
 Child in a manger and about him 
 Mary and Joseph, the three Magi 
 kings, the shepherds and husband- 
 men with their wives, their sons 
 and their daughters and, in a corn- 
 er, an ass and an ox. 
 
 "Wait " she said. 
 
144 Translations 
 
 The three kings advanced to- 
 ward the Child, and the shepherds 
 drew back politely before them. 
 But the Child made a sign to the 
 shepherds to approach. 
 
 Old Sephora did not stir. 
 
 The Child placed his little hand, 
 first upon the heads of the women 
 and girls, because they are better 
 and suffer more; then upon those 
 of the men and boys. 
 
 And Mary said to them : 
 
 "Be patient; he loves you and is 
 come to suffer with you.'* 
 
 Then the white king thought it 
 his turn. But the Child, with a 
 gentle gesture, called the black 
 king; then the yellow king. 
 
 The black king, his hair cut 
 short and shining with oil, came 
 forward, laughing broadly, and of- 
 fered the newborn Babe necklaces 
 of fish-scales, pebbles of different 
 colors, dates and cocoanuts. 
 
 And Mary said to him: 
 
The Paradise of Animals 145 
 
 "Thou art not evil, but thou dost 
 not know. Try to imagine what 
 thy life would be if thou wert not 
 king in thy country. Eat no more 
 men and do not beat thy subjects." 
 
 The yellow king, with oblique 
 eyes, offered silks embroidered 
 with fanciful figures, potteries en- 
 ameled, as it seemed, with prisoned 
 moonbeams, a sphere of curiously 
 carved ivory representing the sky 
 with its planets and all the animals 
 of creation, and sacks of tea gath- 
 ered in the good season from select 
 bushes. 
 
 And Mary said to him: 
 
 "No longer hide thyself away 
 from thy people. Do not believe 
 that all wisdom is in thee and in 
 thy race. And take care of those 
 whose only food is spoiled rice." 
 
 The white king, in military 
 dress, ofifered to the Child delicate 
 goldsmith's work, weapons chisel- 
 ed and engraved, statuettes carved 
 
146 Translations 
 
 in the semblance of beautiful wo- 
 men and purple caskets containing 
 the writings of a sage named Plato. 
 
 And Mary said to him : 
 
 "Make no unjust war. Fear 
 those pleasures which harden the 
 heart. Establish just laws, and be- 
 lieve that it is of moment to all and 
 to thyself that none be mistreated 
 in thy kingdom." 
 
 After the shepherds and the hus- 
 bandmen, the Child blessed the 
 kings in the order in which he had 
 called them. 
 
 Old Sephora thought: 
 
 "That is the reasonable order. 
 The Child has begun with those 
 who have the most need of his com- 
 ing. He makes it clearly under- 
 stood that he cares for justice and 
 that he will establish its reign, 
 whether in this world or in anoth- 
 er. His mother, moreover, has 
 spoken well. Yet he does not 
 
The Paradise of Animals 147 
 
 think of all. What will he do for 
 the beasts?" 
 
 But Mary understood her 
 thought. She turned toward the 
 Child, and the Child turned to- 
 ward the ass and the ox. 
 
 The ass, thin and mangy, the ox, 
 fat enough, but mournful, ap- 
 proached the manger and smelled 
 Jesus. 
 
 The Child placed one hand on 
 the nose of the ox and with the 
 other he pressed lightly the ass's 
 ear. 
 
 And the ox seemed to smile ; and 
 from the eyes of the ass fell two 
 tears which were lost in his coarse 
 hair. 
 
 At the same time the camels 
 which were without quietly enter- 
 ed the stable and reached out their 
 heads confidingly toward the 
 Child. 
 
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